Back to Bangkok, and the search for a worthless trinket.

At the end of my last post, I had met the lovely ghostlike Buddha, but was yet to explore the old city of Sukhothai. And what a treat that was.

The old city is now a World Heritage Site, safely preserved behind the remains of its walls. The rough-and-tumble of the modern city is left outside; there are acres of scrubby grass, a few (mercifully shady) trees and stone pathways all containing the remains of the old city. And I loved it - as this is slightly off the main tourist highway it was easy to stroll from one site to another, to stand and stare without being in the way of those taking photos, or waiting for the onslaught of tour groups. So there was space to look and to think. 

Many people cycle around. Not on a bike like this, but I like the photograph!

For those who have been to Angkor Wat, or know the pictures, the construction of some of these temples will be  familiar. 

One day, I need to research the history of the area, from the north of Thailand and into Cambodia. Some of these temples were ransacked during an invasion from Myanmar, so it seems likely that there are cultural links there too. (Would I like to visit Myanmar to find out? Of course I would. But common sense says it’s not the best idea for me to go walkabout in Myanmar!)

In hindsight, would I have liked longer in Sukhothai - yes. But for once I’ve planned this trip, had transport booked to a room at a resort outside Khao Yai National Park. However, the resort was further from the Park than I realised, and visiting was going to be a challenge. I could, says the woman at the hotel, get a taxi and walk in the Park on my own. I had another burst of common sense: walking on my own in a Park with wild elephants isn’t the greatest idea. And a tour? I could be picked up at 7.00, go rafting and trekking in time for a quick lunch and then so many activities it was tired just looking at the list, finally returned to the hotel by 8 in the evening. I saw young people stride off, and good luck to them. I’d rather not be the poor old soul at the back they were always waiting to catch up. 

Did that matter? Here is where I spent most of my time, reading, writing, and watching the world go by:

And so, with just three days before I fly home, I’ve come back to Bangkok. 

On a shelf at home, I have a collection of worthless trinkets: small mementoes that carry great memories from many great journeys. And so my task, while I’m here, is to find another trinket to join them to become another part of my travelling journey. Do I need a little Buddha? A Chinese cat that waves, perhaps? Another painted elephant? 

Or maybe I’ll sit in this courtyard a little longer …

New Year in Bangkok

 Well, if I must celebrate the arrival of 2025, I might as well do it here.

Of course, Bangkok’s inconsistencies came out to play. I chose to go to a huge Buddhist gathering not far from my hotel. Well, that was the plan: first negotiate the roundabout. Enough said - I came to no harm. Then find the entrance by following the railings, which was fine except where trees and crowds meant walking in the road. (Plus the overflow from temporary loos - don’t even think about that!)

There was security to get in, which confused me at first as it looked as if they believed the faithful might be terrorists. But they were looking for plastic: there should be no plastic bottles or bags at a Buddhist gathering so these were unceremoniously thrown aside. Thankfully, I had neither.

And into the grounds of the Wat, where it all got a bit surreal. Thousands gather there to see in the New Year. The great and the good had chairs, covered in sacred white. The rest of us sat on plastic grass. 

It is, I knew, vital that one’s feet are always turned away from the Buddha, which means kneeling on ankles, sitting to one side, or managing cross-legged. So there was a lot of grumbling in the arthritic knee department before the night was done. After an initial formal ceremony, the chanting began, led by monks. And, while I understood nothing, there is something magnificent about thousands of people chanting in unison to see in the New Year. 

(The lettering above the monks is in Chinese, not Thai, as there were visiting bigwigs from China here.)

But I didn’t stay till the end. I wanted to watch the fireworks from the safety of my hotel balcony. And, given that my hotel is in Khao San Road, even reaching it was an expedition. Maybe the security check at the end of the road, and numbers of beefy policemen who loitering everywhere should have warned me. Shame they did nothing about crowd control. The street was overflowing with young people having a wonderful time, drinking, dancing, smoking cannabis (‘cannabis’ is sold freely, but there is no familiar weedy smell, so they could have been smoking anything). Music thumped from every bar and cafe, each determined to be louder than next door; music so loud it echoed in my chest. The street smelled of street food and beer and stale perfume. No plastic here either: glass splintered and crunched under a thousand feet. But I shoved, wheedled, inched my way through it all and made it to the hotel in time.

Khao San Road, the next morning. Some young people took pictures of the crush, but pushing my way through was enough for me.

Somehow Bangkok reconciles the strictures of its Buddhism with the excesses of Khao San Road. I know some of the young people making the most of the night were tourists, but not all. And the young Thai women working the night clubs are as much a part of Bangkok as its wats and temples.

It’s the contradictions of this city that I love, even though they make no sense. 

Though this bloke didn’t seem that bothered:

Happy New Year!!

Thoughts of Bangkok.

Bangkok is a big, smelly Asian city and I love it. And instantly I have to qualify that - I always stay around Khao San Road, which is the backpacker enclave. The streets are heaving with young people, in young-people clothes. Tuk tuks hoot as they weave through the crowds. Stalls spill their wares into the streets. Street-food friers hiss from the hot oil. Massage chairs line the street behind them. Women in 'traditional dress' stroll up and down, trying to sell wooden tree-frogs. Restaurants and bars squash tables as close together as they dare; in the evenings young Thai women exposing too much skin stand outside to entice punters in with promises of two beers for the price of one (I suspect those who accept take more notice of the flesh on offer than the beer).

This picture was taken in a tiny passageway, stalls crammed each side, goods so tightly packed that you wonder how anyone could linger to select the one little image he or she must have to take home.

And yet, on the corner, is a small temple. Incense wafts around the entrance and stings my eyes. But inside - just a step away from the mayhem outside - is a quiet space where people come to pray and meditate. The contrast couldn't be greater. But it's a rejuvenating respite from Bangkok's pandemonium.

It's not all tourism. I did manage to get lost in a local market or two. Even there goods are crammed - and here is a picture of a trolley heaped with vegetables - pushed by one man with apparently little effort. (I'll remember that, next time I push a baby buggy up a slope!)

I didn't have long in Bangkok, so there was just one 'tourist visit' - to the Palace. It's sumptuous and extravagant - all glitter and gold - and here are a few pictures as a taster.

That night, back on Khao San Road, I wandered about after supper. Music blared from the bars and people jigged along the street. Most of the massage chairs are full as tourists bare their toes for the masseurs. Pink and orange lanterns swing high above the bars. The tuks tuks have almost given up trying to get through.

Across the street, outside the temple, a group of rough sleepers settle away from the glare of the lights and the music. To one side a small boy sits alone, his hands out and a pot in front of him. I slip into a corner to watch him. A few passersby drop baht in his pot. After about ten minutes a woman arrives and they greet each other with unmistakable affection. She checks his pot, puts an arm round his shoulder and they settle down together.

But what if ... this is Bangkok. Not everyone is here for the pandemonium of Khao San Road. Men come to this city for the children. This time this little boy was safe. But the next night ... and the next ..?

Why would you want to get your eyelashes permed?

Bangkok is a wonderful city. Oh I know it's polluted - diesel hangs in the air like soup, and there's the endless hiss and smell of frying street food. I know it's noisy - the honking of car horns, the music blaring from restaurants and bars. I know it's exploitative, of tourist and Thai alike. But I still love it.

There are so many things to do. On Saturday I visited the Palace - all gold and glitter and, to western eyes, possibly over the top, but even so it is sumptuous and there are unexpectedly peaceful corners. The city has parks - maybe not as green as those at home, but still places with scrubby trees where you can find shade on the hottest days. There are vast, air-conditioned shopping malls, though you won't see me there.

Instead I'm lurking in the backpackers heaven of Khao San Road. And here you can buy anything. You can choose material and have a suit made. You can have a foot massage, a shoulder massage. You can have your fungally feet nibbled by fish who have, just five minutes ago, been nibbling at someone else's fungals. You can buy skirts, t-shirts, baggy trousers, necklaces, pirated DVDs, scarves, knickers. You can buy a driving license and a degree certificate.

Go to Chinatown and, in the tiny market stalls, you can find wigs, fabric, gold (possibly fake), remedies for everything from alopecia to athletes foot.

Go to the Amulet Market and you can find old coins, artefacts (possibly fake), glasses, dildos, false teeth.

Make it back to Khao San Road in one piece and you can get a piercing, a tattoo, get your hair cut.

You can get your eyelashes permed ... What??

Why would anyone want to get his or her eyelashes permed?

And then, should anyone decide that his or her life is not complete without curly eyelashes, what is involved in the procedure? A smelly lotion and tiny curlers? (Pause to savour that image for a second.)

Am I missing something? It my life really incomplete without permed eyelashes?

(Sorry if I'm letting the side down heading for Malaysia with none of this stuff!)

The year has turned. Time to pack those bags again.

The decorations are in hiding for another year. We are launched into January, a little older, no wiser, but hopefully with dreams intact after all the festive excess.

It's not an easy time of year. Winter stretches in front of us - the weather can delight or depress us, but always makes life hard work. All that putting in and taking off of clothes. The lost gloves. The heavy coats that get even heavier when they are wet. Soggy feet.

Hang on a minute - what am I complaining about? I'm off to Bangkok on Wednesday.

I'm not actually complaining - I'm trying to be empathetic. To show that I do understand that life isn't all log fires and crumpets while I'm away. That you are all keeping the show on the road while I'm ... swanning around the Far East.

You are unconvinced by my empathy? All I can say, in my defence, is assure you that I've done my share of British winters and know I'm just rubbish at them. I hate the cold, the dark, the wet, the lack of colour.

And I'm privileged - I know I am - to be able to turn my back on the seasonal horribleness and head for the sun.

Why the Far East again? Because I love it. Cuba was hard work (as some of you know) so I want to go somewhere I feel at home, where I know how to get about and look after myself, and maybe to look up a few of the people I met on my long trip.

Will I write about it - I know I say, every year, that I won't make promises. And then I come home and write. This year feels a bit different, because I know more or less what to expect and it doesn't include adventures like cyclones and tigers, nor the trauma of a terrifying history. This is a journey just for me, going somewhere I love.

Having said that, I shall carry on blogging, and there will be plenty of photos when I get back. And if I do stumble into an adventure or two (which is definitely not in the plan) I might revise my ideas about writing another book.

(Forgive me for rushing off, I have packing to do. And I hope you all have excitements of one shape or another to cheer these dark days.)

New Year in Bangkok

You're expecting fireworks? So was I. I even asked in the travel agent's where was the best place to see them. Go to the bridge, she said - and marked the relevant bridge on my map.

So we - Anthea (from New Zealand, also travelling alone) and I headed for the bridge, diverted only briefly towards a park where thousands were watching what we were told was a Buddhist ceremony and, at that point, sounding like a modern Opera. We left them to their devotions. It was New Year - we wanted fireworks.

But now the tide of the crowd worked against us. We stopped to ask - go back to the park, the young man said. The only way to see fireworks from the bridge is to climb the gantry. Which, even after a couple of New Year beers, seemed like a bad idea. Besides, the park is a huge open space - we'd see fireworks from there.

By the time we returned the opera was over, replaced by chanting - the hypnotic Buddhist chanting that can only be achieved by magical breathing. Thousands of the faithful were sitting on the grass, hands held before them in devotion, as the ebb and flow of singing wafted round them. We edged between them and found a place to sit. The stage - even the big screens - were too far away to see much. But nobody minded - we all sat, in delicious contemplation - while the chanting went on, and on, and on. The grumble of traffic, the smell of diesel and street food - it all fell away.

And in the sky - Chinese lanterns rose into the night sky from all corners of the city. They have a Buddhist significance that is lost on me - but they dotted the darkness with a thousand pinpricks of light at they sailed off towards the stars.

A giant clock on the screen ticked round towards midnight. And still the monks chanted, and the devoted sat in silence with their prayers. The seconds passed, 58, 59, 00 - and it was 2013 and there may have been a brief collective sigh. The chanting continued and still we sat, in glorious tranquility, the flashes of fireworks in the distance making no impact on the silent crowd nor chanting monks.

Slowly people began to shuffle, to stand, and to drift away. We headed back into the streets of the city, met with thumping music from cafes, people lighting fireworks in the street, drunken revellers kissing whoever happened to be near. I am sure they enjoyed their evening. But my silent New Year - I don't suppose I'll ever know another like it.

Sawasdee pii mai ka. Happy New Year.