On the way home to Korea I have an eight-hour layover. This time, however, it's in the daytime - so I get to go into Bangkok on an organised tour. It's just me and another man - a Malaysian scientist - who happens to get to the desk at the same time as me, so we share the guide's price. Our guide is Lek, and he leads us through VIP customs out into the muggy heat of the Thai winter and into a waiting car.
We drive into central Thailand and from an old wooden pier we catch a boat across the river. Unlike the lazy Mekong, this one rolls and waves and chops at the boat as we loll our way across. In the centre there's a steady line of banana leaves, fresh apples and marigolds - offerings from the morning meditation.
On the other side from the pier is Wat Arun. It's more a stupa than a temple, with an almost Islamic influence, white ridges extending up and up until the neck starts to complain about the abuse. Four smaller domed towers stand at each edge.
We start to climb up the narrow, steep stairs - the vertigo isn't too bad as long as I keep my eyes closed. My fingers are white on the railings though. From the second level I look out over central Bangkok, golden temples all around, modern skyscrapers in the middle distance. It's a beautiful city from this vantage point.
From up close, the Islamic influence turns to a more Portuguese-style decoration, perhaps, with blue-and-white pottery set into the walls, and mosaic littering the stupa from ground to heaven.
The statues are most definitely Asian, though.
Little bells hang from the outer towers playing the background music to our climb.
After placing my feet thankfully and firmly back on solid ground, we're led down to the river again. All around the jetty are hundreds of enormous fish, disturbing the surface. Lek says it's not allowed to fish near the temples, which protect all life in their vicinity (I can see this from the fat cats strolling past with an air of superiority). From the jetty we get on a long-tail boat, shorter and sturdier-looking than the Lao ones, and head into the canals.
The Bangkok khlong are ancient waterways right in the centre of the city, edged with teeming life, both animal and human.
Thais live in stilted houses and floating shacks above the water, with farms of water plants in between shops and bars. Temples and schools also back onto the canals, many with their own little jetties.
The houses are obviously poor but very sweet to an onlooker, quaint and wooden with masses of flowers and potted plants overflowing from the verandahs. Some of the families are out eating their dinner amongst the greenery on low tables; some are fishing for their dinner almost from their front rooms. There are lots of fish here too. We pause at a jetty where a heavily tattooed monk - who I'd mistake for Triad were he not in saffron robes and sitting in the lotus position - sits talking to a squatting woman.
A man sells Lek some large bread rolls and we lean over the edge of the boat to feed the fish, which leap and scuffle for the food.
By this time, I'm pretty starving myself so I'm grateful when, back on the bank, Lek suggests a restaurant round the corner that he likes. It's a local place with plastic chairs on the sidewalk, and a man frying vegetables in a wok on the street. When I ask for a Fanta inside, the boy scrubbing the floors looks at me in terror and yells "Farang!" into the back room until a woman (his mother?) appears to take my order. The food is plentiful and delicious. We walk back past Wat Arun, black in the dusk, to our car.
Back at the airport I'm taken by the massive display of Thai royalist adoration across the glass front, adorned with pictures of King Rama IX, the longest reigning current monarch in the world.
Thais love their king, who's seen as semi-divine - "enthroned in a position of revered worship, (he) shall not be violated". Harry's trip here in December coincided with his birthday and the entire city had apparently shut down. All the way into town I was met with displays of affection, the king and queen on flags, statues, monuments...
A bit different from the benign contempt the British queen is held in!
And then it's back to the cold breeze of a Korean morning in February - although it's ten degrees warmer than when I left, my tan is still hidden beneath layers of wool, and I'm looking forward to South Africa - in just three weeks' time!
I'm so grumpy at the airport and in the immigration line, where I wait for 45 minutes for one man to process about 3 visas, while his superiors watch from behind - Korean bureaucracy with minimal actual efficiency. But then I get into a taxi, and the driver practises his English all the way to the Village, showing me photos of his children and explaining how proud he is of the girls in university, and talking about his wife and his love for driving, and I walk through the Village gates with a smile on my face.
We start to climb up the narrow, steep stairs - the vertigo isn't too bad as long as I keep my eyes closed. My fingers are white on the railings though. From the second level I look out over central Bangkok, golden temples all around, modern skyscrapers in the middle distance. It's a beautiful city from this vantage point.
From up close, the Islamic influence turns to a more Portuguese-style decoration, perhaps, with blue-and-white pottery set into the walls, and mosaic littering the stupa from ground to heaven.
The statues are most definitely Asian, though.
Little bells hang from the outer towers playing the background music to our climb.
After placing my feet thankfully and firmly back on solid ground, we're led down to the river again. All around the jetty are hundreds of enormous fish, disturbing the surface. Lek says it's not allowed to fish near the temples, which protect all life in their vicinity (I can see this from the fat cats strolling past with an air of superiority). From the jetty we get on a long-tail boat, shorter and sturdier-looking than the Lao ones, and head into the canals.
The Bangkok khlong are ancient waterways right in the centre of the city, edged with teeming life, both animal and human.
Thais live in stilted houses and floating shacks above the water, with farms of water plants in between shops and bars. Temples and schools also back onto the canals, many with their own little jetties.
The houses are obviously poor but very sweet to an onlooker, quaint and wooden with masses of flowers and potted plants overflowing from the verandahs. Some of the families are out eating their dinner amongst the greenery on low tables; some are fishing for their dinner almost from their front rooms. There are lots of fish here too. We pause at a jetty where a heavily tattooed monk - who I'd mistake for Triad were he not in saffron robes and sitting in the lotus position - sits talking to a squatting woman.
A man sells Lek some large bread rolls and we lean over the edge of the boat to feed the fish, which leap and scuffle for the food.
By this time, I'm pretty starving myself so I'm grateful when, back on the bank, Lek suggests a restaurant round the corner that he likes. It's a local place with plastic chairs on the sidewalk, and a man frying vegetables in a wok on the street. When I ask for a Fanta inside, the boy scrubbing the floors looks at me in terror and yells "Farang!" into the back room until a woman (his mother?) appears to take my order. The food is plentiful and delicious. We walk back past Wat Arun, black in the dusk, to our car.
Back at the airport I'm taken by the massive display of Thai royalist adoration across the glass front, adorned with pictures of King Rama IX, the longest reigning current monarch in the world.
Thais love their king, who's seen as semi-divine - "enthroned in a position of revered worship, (he) shall not be violated". Harry's trip here in December coincided with his birthday and the entire city had apparently shut down. All the way into town I was met with displays of affection, the king and queen on flags, statues, monuments...
A bit different from the benign contempt the British queen is held in!
And then it's back to the cold breeze of a Korean morning in February - although it's ten degrees warmer than when I left, my tan is still hidden beneath layers of wool, and I'm looking forward to South Africa - in just three weeks' time!
I'm so grumpy at the airport and in the immigration line, where I wait for 45 minutes for one man to process about 3 visas, while his superiors watch from behind - Korean bureaucracy with minimal actual efficiency. But then I get into a taxi, and the driver practises his English all the way to the Village, showing me photos of his children and explaining how proud he is of the girls in university, and talking about his wife and his love for driving, and I walk through the Village gates with a smile on my face.
Sounds like it was an amazing trip em - you did so much!
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