Rechargable Tourist, Just Add Mango
BANGKOK
MARCH 14
Dazed from a night of sleeping on the bus, I somehow managed to negotiate the canals of Bangkok. The streets of Bangkok are hot, humid, filthy, and stink of diesel. Decent public transport is limited to the rivers, canals, and the "Skytrain," an elevated train that goes nowhere near the Viengtai Hotel and Khao San Road.
I picked up my mail from American Express, and wandered off to "Baan Chiang" restaurant by Taksin Bridge. I am a huge fan of Thai vegetables in green coconut curry, and intended to eat it for every meal in Thailand, followed by a steady stream of mango and sticky rice for dessert. Baan Chiang was recommended by my colorful "Nancy Chandler's Map of Bangkok," and made a fantastic mango and sticky rice, but a fairly average curry.
Chao Phrya river taxi
The last water taxi back to Banglamphu had left without me, so I took the Skytrain two stops in the wrong direction, turned around, tried to catch the bus on the wrong side of the street, and then finally found the right bus stop but got tired of waiting after twenty minutes. Exhausted and reminding myself to acknowledge my limits, I took a metered taxi back to the Viengtai.
MARCH 15
Receiving a FedEx in Bangkok turned out to be complex. The Viengtai received a fax for me, from "Chutima" at FedEx. It was a photocopy of the airbill. I had no idea what this meant, so I called FedEx. After getting cut off about fourteen times, I finally got through to an operator. "Please hold for Chutima," was the response.
"No, wait, I'll get cut off..." I said, but it was too late. The squeaky tones of the Bee Gees singing "How Deep Is Your Love" were already lulling me into a false sense of security. I was on hold. What could go wrong?
Of course I was cut off again. The next time I called, I left my telephone number. Chutima called me back to say that I had to fax over a copy of my passport and arrival stamp so that my tax returns, China guidebook, and oil-free hair gel could be cleared through Customs.
"Now it is okay," said Chutima. "Your FedEx will be delivered tomorrow."
I hoped so. I was leaving Bangkok on Sunday, and meeting Lynne and Fiona in Siem Reap on Monday morning. They were flying in from the UK, and weren't likely to appreciate me missing in action due to waiting on oil-free hair gel. There wasn't room for FedEx error.
After trying out the Ah-Thong Restaurant (rated highly by "Bangkok Metro" magazine, two "eh's" by Marie), I went to the nighttime Wat Arun sound and light Show.
| Wat Arun is one of the many impressive, detailed temples ("wats") in Bangkok. I'd be in a crummy area, walking past rubbish, hungry touts and shacks, then I'd suddenly see a stunning golden-tiered temple rising up out of the filth.
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I was photographing the sound and light show from the pier near Wat Po, and then a young Thai woman pulled me aside.
"You can go there," she said. "Take the ferry for two baht."
I followed her instructions and visited Wat Arun. There were no seats for the sound and light show -- it was displayed for the benefit of those passing by on river taxis. Giant speakers pointed to the river, blaring a bass-heavy soundtrack out to the general public.
MARCH 16
Catching a taxi
Down at Banglamphu pier, I was waiting for a river taxi to Wat Po when a woman tapped my shoulder.
"Your hair is a beautiful color," she said. "Is it natural?"
I confessed that it was not in the least bit natural, but suddenly realized why all the women in Indonesia had been pointing, staring, and touching me. My hair color didn't exist in nature, but random Goldwell salons around the globe had insured that no one but me and the astute woman on the Banglamphu pier would know. There aren't too many blondes in Southeast Asia, and there are very few number 11A and 11N blondes.
Wat Po
At Wat Po, I headed straight for the massage school. Thai massage is legendary, and is not like the massage we are used to in the west. It involves pressure points and some bone cracking. A Thai woman in bifocals massed out my semi-carpal tunnel and backpacker's shoulder, and then went to work on my butt.
Wat Po massage school
Thai massage, from Wat Po brochure
I hadn't seen any Thai women with cellulite and now I knew why. The masseuse pushed all my spare weight around, and then proceeded to climb all over me, using my own weight to crack my joints. She then walked me to the foot reflexology department, giving me an enormous bear hug and chattering away in Thai before leaving me to the nefarious mechanations of a younger Thai woman with a stick.
| "What a nice foot rub," I thought. A minute later I was grimacing in pain. The reflexologist was torturing me, poking my foot with a stick and mercilessly pounding on my calves.
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Foot torture with a stick
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When I exclaimed, she laughed and said, "oh are you ticklish?" No, I thought, but would my calves be black and blue?
Wat Po reclining Buddha
reclining Buddha has mother of pearl toes
Wat Po ticket
A visit to the Wat Po fortune teller's pavilion yielded the exact same fortune as it had the year before. I was sure to be famous in my own country (this time the fortune teller added that it was "as a writer"). I'm going to live into my 80's, have a car accident at 43, and am a good singer(??).
I was born on a Friday in the Year of the Horse, and was likely to be successful in business. I like to travel (well, duh) and will have two children.
Marie's future
It was the same fortune teller as the previous year, and he worked all this out from me telling him my birthday. At least he had a system, I thought. He'd come up with the same comments both times.
Wat Po at night
I caught the canal boat taxi downtown to shop for an elusive anti-sun hat, and was amazed when I kept passing hip young Thais in fantastic clothing. Then I saw that they were reading guidebooks and looking lost, and wearing giant bumbags. They weren't Thai locals, they were Japanese tourists, looking as confused as I was.
I stopped by McDonald's for a "Corn Pie." Last year I'd tried the "Pineapple Pie" and it had been too sweet. I hadn't worked up the nerve yet to try the "Taro Pie." The corn version was basically a can of cream corn within the deep-fried pie crust that is usually on the McDonald's hot apple pie. All in all, interesting once but not something I'd try again.
I raced back to the hotel. Would my FedEx be there? I needed to get back in time to call Chutima if there was no FedEx. Where could my package be?
I walked down Khao San Road towards the small alley that cut through to the Viengtai.
"Marie! Marie!" Someone was definitely calling me. I looked around. I didn't see the other tourists I'd met, or any number of Intrepid leaders I'd been half expecting to stumble over. It was Sareena from Kathmandu (last seen in "Overland from Kathmandu to Damascus"). She used to be married to my friend's brother, and there she was in front of me with her French beau.
So much for Fed Ex, I thought. You can't ignore someone you run into by random chance, someone you know from a totally different country and haven't seen in over a year. We went for a drink.
Whereas I was thrilled by the various conveniences of Bangkok, Sareena was appalled by them. "Gross," she said of the Skytrain. She gave me an assignment: to find live music scenes throughout the world. I wasn't sure I was up to it. It had been a long time since I'd gone to see a band that I didn't know, but I promised to try.
Sareena was in town to get a renewal for her boyfriend's visa, and left Khao San Road in the early evening. Back at the Viengtai, FedEx packages were waiting for me. I went out for pad thai, followed by mango and sticky rice. I was used to eating alone in restaurants by now, and didn't even bother to bring a book.
MARCH 17
This morning, as on every morning I'd spent in Bangkok, I woke early to run errands. I dropped off laundry, posted home my incomprehensible tax returns (that's why I need an accountant), and headed to the canal to catch a longtail boat.
A tuk-tuk driver kept pace with me by Wat Sukhet.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Boat," I responded. "Then Skytrain. Then Chatuchak Market."
He looked askance at me. "But today is the only day in the whole year that the temple (blah blah) is open."
I laughed. Likely story. I had read many warnings about unscrupulous Thai tuk-tuk drivers, but this was the first one I had actually met.
"No, thank you," I said firmly. He looked at me with pity and walked away. My loss.
Chatuchak Market gets packed around noon, so I raced through quickly, picking up souvenirs and lingering in my favorite aisle -- the pet section.
Chatuchuk Weekend Market
Chatuchuk Weekend Market, fish dealer
Baby squirrels were in season and were displayed everywhere. They looked petrified, clinging to their breeders' hands or to the roofs of their cages.
Chatuchuk Weekend Market, squirrel dealer
Chatuchuk Weekend Market, guinea pig inspector
A little girl and her mom negotiated the purchase of a baby squirrel -- the girl held the tiny creature, stroking its head with great seriousness. The mom took notes on feeding, while the breeder demonstrated, letting the squirrel suck on an eye dropper full of baby formula.
Serious about new pet squirrel
I headed onto the puppy section, where hundreds of cute puppies were hopping around and barking. The loudest, most unhappy pups were the ones receiving blowdrys. I didn't blame them for kicking up a fuss. It had been a long time since I'd volunteered for a blowdry.
Chatuchuk Weekend Market, blowdrying a dog
Not every breeder had a shop. Some freelance breeders just sat on the curb, a plastic laundry basket of yipping dogs at their feet.
The market crowds started to get strangling, so I headed back to Khao San Road, which was always guaranteed to be crowded.
I went to fetch my laundry. The little girl who'd taken my dirty clothes in the morning was not there, and her grandparents told me to come back later. I caused chaos by insisting on taking my clean clothes off the line, as they were visibly hanging three feet away. I didn't want to come back later. I had to pack -- I had a morning hell ride to Cambodia scheduled, and wouldn't want to miss it.
Packing had to wait. At the Viengtai, standing at reception, there was a familiar figure. An Australian woman was chatting with the help while filling out Intrepid forms.
"Wendy!" I said.
It was old home week. I'd be meeting Lynne, who I'd first met in '96 in Central America, in two days. I had seen Sareena from my '98 Kathmandu trip earlier in the week, and now I'd seen Wendy, my leader from the Bangkok to Hanoi leg of 2000's Intrepid trip.
Wendy and Marie
Wendy had just gotten back from Australia, and had two more Intrepid trips to lead before her contract was up. She had plans to move to Laos for a while, where a sweet,young Laotian from Pak Beng had proposed marriage. I remember him -- she'd sat up until late with him and had pounded on the door when our hotel had locked her out.
"Pak Beng is getting 60 tourists a day," said Wendy. "There's no facilities for them, and we're going to build tourist bungalows."
Pak Beng was the overnight stop that tourists made on their Mekong boat trips from Thailand to Luang Prabang. Wendy didn't know if she'd marry Alan, but was willing to spend a few months with him to see if they had a future together.
We talked until late, and I had my last mango and sticky rice dessert. I started packing at midnight. It would be a rough morning. I had to get up at five.
NEXT: "Potholes you could park a truck in!" Where the lunar landing REALLY happened in the '60s!
