This part could have been titled "Bangkok", but it all honesty, we didn't see much of the city. There are a lot of tourist things to do, buddhas to be seen, boats in which you can ride, but for 3 days we became stuck in the magical tourist carnival that is Kao San Road. In a Lonely Planet somewhere, there is a mention that KS Rd gained fame/notoriety after the release of The Beach, but only having read the book (twice, years ago) I cannot recall any mention of this road in literature. We just went there because it was a definite that we would find accomodation without booking beforehand.
Three beds we found, for less than the price of a beer in Japan. It was our first introduction to the hand-held cold-water showers that would become the norm for the rest of the trip. The rest of the time was spent people-watching, getting our hair dreaded and braided, indulging in pancakes and food that set your lips on fire, buying crap we didn't need, sampling the local beers, meeting random travelers, getting ripped off by TAT (a travel company that gave our individual trips instant structure, but at a price), going for manic drives in wheelying tuk-tuks, a Muay-Thai boxing match, getting familiar with the yellow backgrounds of the King's face, more food, more beer, more backpackers, night markets, day markets, the sound of wooden frog curios and "kwah pun kaah's" echoing through the streets.
The really interesting part was to go to Thailand from Japan. To go from a place where politeness is taken to the point of indifference, and where people would do a 180 degree turn to avoid you, in fear of being greeted in English. A mere 6 hour flight, and suddenly people were making eye contact (what a novelty!) and smiling when they greet you. Also, I felt much more at home in Bangkok because it was so much more like Africa. More real. Dirty, smelly streets, messy hawkers with stalls and garbage that spills over into the streets. Homeless, toothless people sleeping on the streets. Poverty. Need. Desperation. And yet, they smile.
On the second or third night, we touristed our way over to Patpong with our new Thai friend, the dude who sold me my money belt. That red money belt became so much part of my attire that I wore it into the ocean on New Year's and killed my camera, but that's another story. Patpong had been a name in my head since I read about it in Tom Robbins novels, where he proclaimed it to be the one place on earth that you can find any type of sex that you can imagine. We didn't wander that deep into it's seedy alleyways, but stopped short at the first Ping-Pong bar we found, briefly looking at the program. It was like the scene it "From Dusk Till Dawn" where the guy stands outside the Titty Twister bar, rambling off the pussy menu for the night. The shows ran at 15 minute intervals, and all had delightful names such as: "Pussy open water bottle" / "Pussy play ping-pong" / "Pussy shoot darts". We payed our 200 baht, and made our way up the narrow stairs, anticipating the worst but propelled onwards by morbid curiosity.
Now, you can go your whole life without seeing a Ping-Pong show. You might actually be better off not seeing one. But if you should ever find yourself in Bangkok, just go ahead and do it so that you, in turn, can tell others that it's not worth it. It's not that the shows are hardcore or perverse. What I saw in Amsterdam made the Ping Pong show look like a chugakko English class. And that's the main reason why you leave there feeling a bit gritty. They're so.. disinterested. Removed from what they are doing. The girls dancing on poles in skimpy clothes are barely moving their asses. They keep checking their hair in the mirrors behind them. When we walked inside, there was a naked girl squatted over a piece of paper, with a marking pen stuffed up her twat. No, I won't use flowery euphemisms. She removed the pen, picked up the paper, and walked around, chewing gum in a good imitation of a cow "Welcome To Ping Pong Show" it said on the paper. We felt everything but.
They all just go through the motions. Remove top. Remove panties. Chew that hangnail on your middle finger while you flex those cervical muscles. It's sad because it's nothing. We left after our complimentary beers and headed to a club called "Lucifer" to dance their dead eyes out of our minds.
And so we just mucked about for a few days in a tiny percentage of the city. It was good though. There were moments where I felt myself change, where I felt more alive than I had in weeks. Two nights ended and turned into mornings with me sitting around a dented old stainless steel bowl in the middle of a street, getting a smoky fire going with dry bamboo and matches, trading stories and viewpoints with people who survive only from day to day. No, I don't know what it feels like to sit in school with a war going on outside. I don't know what it feels like to not know where my food will come from tomorrow. I don't know what it feels like to not know my brothers,, not know whether they are alive or dead. I can seek experience in other countries. I don't have to seek solace. I am lucky, my life has been so easy and I have been so blessed. And those dudes - Kpebane, Chai and Adam - they reminded me of that.
Kao San road ended for me while struggling my way through the spiciest salad in Bangkok. Someone was supposed to come pick me up from the guesthouse, to take me to the bus headed for Singapore. A shifty-looking boy came inside, and asked where we were going. I said Singapore. He motioned for me to follow him. I took my backpack, hugged Jen and Dimple goodbye (who, at that stage, had no idea whether or not they were going to see me again, ever) and followed him. We headed through restaurants and boxing rings with primary school boys lifting weights, through dodgy alleys and past sleeping dogs. And finally, a busstop. Which is the point from where I sojourned, until I met up with Hernes 42 hours and 2 countries later.
Three beds we found, for less than the price of a beer in Japan. It was our first introduction to the hand-held cold-water showers that would become the norm for the rest of the trip. The rest of the time was spent people-watching, getting our hair dreaded and braided, indulging in pancakes and food that set your lips on fire, buying crap we didn't need, sampling the local beers, meeting random travelers, getting ripped off by TAT (a travel company that gave our individual trips instant structure, but at a price), going for manic drives in wheelying tuk-tuks, a Muay-Thai boxing match, getting familiar with the yellow backgrounds of the King's face, more food, more beer, more backpackers, night markets, day markets, the sound of wooden frog curios and "kwah pun kaah's" echoing through the streets.
The really interesting part was to go to Thailand from Japan. To go from a place where politeness is taken to the point of indifference, and where people would do a 180 degree turn to avoid you, in fear of being greeted in English. A mere 6 hour flight, and suddenly people were making eye contact (what a novelty!) and smiling when they greet you. Also, I felt much more at home in Bangkok because it was so much more like Africa. More real. Dirty, smelly streets, messy hawkers with stalls and garbage that spills over into the streets. Homeless, toothless people sleeping on the streets. Poverty. Need. Desperation. And yet, they smile.
On the second or third night, we touristed our way over to Patpong with our new Thai friend, the dude who sold me my money belt. That red money belt became so much part of my attire that I wore it into the ocean on New Year's and killed my camera, but that's another story. Patpong had been a name in my head since I read about it in Tom Robbins novels, where he proclaimed it to be the one place on earth that you can find any type of sex that you can imagine. We didn't wander that deep into it's seedy alleyways, but stopped short at the first Ping-Pong bar we found, briefly looking at the program. It was like the scene it "From Dusk Till Dawn" where the guy stands outside the Titty Twister bar, rambling off the pussy menu for the night. The shows ran at 15 minute intervals, and all had delightful names such as: "Pussy open water bottle" / "Pussy play ping-pong" / "Pussy shoot darts". We payed our 200 baht, and made our way up the narrow stairs, anticipating the worst but propelled onwards by morbid curiosity.
Now, you can go your whole life without seeing a Ping-Pong show. You might actually be better off not seeing one. But if you should ever find yourself in Bangkok, just go ahead and do it so that you, in turn, can tell others that it's not worth it. It's not that the shows are hardcore or perverse. What I saw in Amsterdam made the Ping Pong show look like a chugakko English class. And that's the main reason why you leave there feeling a bit gritty. They're so.. disinterested. Removed from what they are doing. The girls dancing on poles in skimpy clothes are barely moving their asses. They keep checking their hair in the mirrors behind them. When we walked inside, there was a naked girl squatted over a piece of paper, with a marking pen stuffed up her twat. No, I won't use flowery euphemisms. She removed the pen, picked up the paper, and walked around, chewing gum in a good imitation of a cow "Welcome To Ping Pong Show" it said on the paper. We felt everything but.
They all just go through the motions. Remove top. Remove panties. Chew that hangnail on your middle finger while you flex those cervical muscles. It's sad because it's nothing. We left after our complimentary beers and headed to a club called "Lucifer" to dance their dead eyes out of our minds.
And so we just mucked about for a few days in a tiny percentage of the city. It was good though. There were moments where I felt myself change, where I felt more alive than I had in weeks. Two nights ended and turned into mornings with me sitting around a dented old stainless steel bowl in the middle of a street, getting a smoky fire going with dry bamboo and matches, trading stories and viewpoints with people who survive only from day to day. No, I don't know what it feels like to sit in school with a war going on outside. I don't know what it feels like to not know where my food will come from tomorrow. I don't know what it feels like to not know my brothers,, not know whether they are alive or dead. I can seek experience in other countries. I don't have to seek solace. I am lucky, my life has been so easy and I have been so blessed. And those dudes - Kpebane, Chai and Adam - they reminded me of that.
Kao San road ended for me while struggling my way through the spiciest salad in Bangkok. Someone was supposed to come pick me up from the guesthouse, to take me to the bus headed for Singapore. A shifty-looking boy came inside, and asked where we were going. I said Singapore. He motioned for me to follow him. I took my backpack, hugged Jen and Dimple goodbye (who, at that stage, had no idea whether or not they were going to see me again, ever) and followed him. We headed through restaurants and boxing rings with primary school boys lifting weights, through dodgy alleys and past sleeping dogs. And finally, a busstop. Which is the point from where I sojourned, until I met up with Hernes 42 hours and 2 countries later.
No comments:
Post a Comment