Wednesday, April 21, 2004
I've skipped Cambodia and written about Bangkok. I'll get to Cambodia...when I get to it. (No more promises I can't keep!) Off to Laos tomorrow!
Bangkok
Keith and I decided to take the ‘easy’ way to Bangkok—on a tourist bus, straight from our hostel door to the backpacker area of Bangkok. We had heard it would take longer, but were a bit unsure about dealing with service taxis since it was the day before New Year (Cambodia has their own Khmer New Year, with similar traditions of water-throwing and festivities). We were tightly squeezed in a minibus that had A/C problems, so that on the bumpy, dirt roads, we were flailing about and my nose was dying from the dust. I began to see why so many people covered their faces (especially if you were riding atop a truck, perched on odds and ends like many people do) and why cowboys wore bandanas. I rigged up my own, wetting it so that it would block more dust. It took us SIX hours to get to the border—we later learned that Bridget’s friends took a taxi to the border (just the two of them in the whole thing) for the same price our trip cost and they made it there in less than three hours, in much greater comfort. From the border, we switched to another SUV type van that was smooth sailing.
As soon as you pass out of Cambodia, in the netherworld before you reach Thailand, the beggars line the streets, jingling their cups and looking up, pleadingly. I’m not sure if they were Thai or Cambodian. Nor was the ownership of the Casino in the middle identifiable either.
Upon entering Backpacker Land, we were immediately christened, though thankfully just a bit of water, not a drenching. It was only the 11th, but the foreigners had begun their water fights earlier. I’m always conflicted about touristy areas—usually they’re centrally located and convenient to get to where everyone goes (that’s why they spring up), you have lots of options for hostels and restaurants, you can meet other people easily (though I’ve found more often than not that other backpackers kind of annoy me). At the same time, you see lots and lots of foreigners and don’t get a real taste for the city/country. The same goes for hostel-run trips (like that to the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam)—you’re on board with other travelers, but it is just so much easier. It’s all also a product of the Lonely Planet cult; it’s every traveler’s bible. Which means that when you go to a place listed there, you’re gonna see others who found out about it in the same way as you. Avoiding this is one reason why I like living in a foreign country rather than just visiting—I don’t have to worry about hostelling and I can get insider’s information, a more authentic experience.
Tuktuk
A common mode of transport in Bangkok is the tuktuk—the closest thing I can compare it to is a golf cart. A driver stopped us to ask where we were going and offered to take us to see a few temples and then to the one we were headed to. He wrote out a list of places, including a visit to an export shop or something of the kind and quoted us a really low price, which we haggled down slightly (a little too easily in an element of foreshadowing) to about a dollar, I think. When we said we didn’t need to go to the export shop, he said that he’d get a free coupon (for gas?) and we’d just have to go look for a few minutes and wouldn’t have to buy. At this point, Keith and I both turned to each other and said, “Oh, I read about this in the Lonely Planet.” The LP had mentioned this as a gimmick of tuktuk drivers. We deliberated briefly and thought that we might as well go, since he claimed the temple we wanted to go to wouldn’t be open till the afternoon anyway.
The first place we went was closed that day to prepare for the New Year, but we met a nice man there who welcomed us to Bangkok. Then we went to the ‘export shop,’ which was a tailors. We looked through magazines at suits and examined the silk fabric. There was another white couple there when we arrived and another man came in while we were looking around; the tuktuk drivers hung out on the street outside.
We were then taken to the Standing Buddha. I was struck by the difference with this temple and others I’ve seen. Instead of the standard, uniform Buddha statute, there were pictures of real people and statutes with different faces and bodies than the typical one. I’m not sure who exactly these golden gods were supposed to be, but I think maybe they were respected monks. People were pouring water onto the statutes, which is where the whole water-New Year thing originates. You could even buy a bird and free it for good luck.
When we went back to where the driver had been waiting—he wasn’t there anymore! We wandered up and down the block, wondering where he could be. We hadn’t paid him yet, so were reluctant to just take off straightaway. Another tuktuk zoomed up, saying that our driver’s shift was over and so he’d left. Why would a driver leave without getting paid? Plus, he’d said he’d take us to the temple at 1 pm when it opened; it was only about noon at this point. The new driver tried to claim that he knew our old driver and that he’d take us, but I was skeptical of that. We think that the gimmick must have been to ditch us at the Standing Buddha temple because it wasn’t worth our driver’s time/money to take us to where we’d originally wanted to go; but he’d used us to get his free coupon. Aiya! Fortunately, after deciding to walk, our intuition led us to the river (no map) and we were able to take a river boat bus.
We went to Wat Pho, which was in full swing for the New Year. There were concession stands set up feet from the temples. There were palm readers and fortune tellers on temple grounds. Looks like the Christian religion isn’t the only one that commercializes religious holidays. Wat Pho has a School for Massage, so I went to do some research on behalf of my mom, massage therapist extraordinaire. The cost, about $4.50 US for half an hour. The room was set up with lots of beds; the one nearest to me was inches away. The massage student massages from the bed as well, not by walking around the table like in the US. At one point, she did this cool thing, using her feet to massage my legs. There was lots of pressure, not so much rubbing. And some weird angling and cracking, too. The woman that massaged me seemed bored out of her mind the whole time, staring into space or chatting up with the neighboring massage student.
At the National Palace, they’re really strict about the dress code. No flip flops, short pants, or tank tops (the official uniform of a backpacker, fyi) allowed, so they had a room of ‘borrowed clothes.’ The rest of the temples didn’t have any such restrictions, so I can only image it was out of respect for the King. We ended up not going because we didn’t want to wait in line and had seen enough temples lately! Plus, you couldn’t go inside and it was the heat of the day and we were hungry.
Muay Thai Kickboxing
We went to a Muay Thai kickboxing match one night. The tuktuk driver had taken us to a travel agent before he abandoned us, who informed us that we could only buy ringside tickets for the equivalent of $45 US. We knew (from the LP!) that there should be cheaper tickets for about $10, but she told us that they didn’t sell those anymore because lots of gambling happened at that seating level and it had caused problems. We didn’t really believe her, so made our way to the stadium ourselves. We bought the cheap tickets, which were bleacher seats instead of folding chairs, but there was plenty of room and no problems. The view was actually probably better, because we were higher up and not that far away. This section was full of Thai men, waving their hands in the air, some magic gambling signals we never figured out.
Coming into the ring with cloaks or capes on, they then did a little ritual Sumo-like (though these were skinny boys—100, 102, 110, and 126 lbs. were the weight classes). They’d bow their head to a corner post, then go to the next and do the same, till they covered all four. Then they would go to the middle, lunge onto one knee and rock back and forth, sometime rolling punches up in the air. They would do a little jump-dance from their knees, too. There were five rounds of three minutes each, with two minute rest periods between each. During the rest period, the kickboxer would sometimes get lifted up if the wind had been knocked out of him. Then he’d get a vigorous rubdown from two trainers, including sticking a hand down the front of their shorts!
People started to leave after the main event, but we discovered that the two women sitting nearest us were there because one of their sons was in the final fight, which was Queensbury style. Keith wanted to see what that meant, though he was practically falling asleep. Turns out it means normal boxing. By that time, the moms and us were the only ones left! We felt obliged to stay and were rewarded in the mom’s son knocked out the opponent in the second round, so we didn’t have to sit through the rest! Unfortunately, both of us missed the KO, since we were discussing whether or not we had to stay.
Odds 'n Ends
*Switching between currencies, I nearly took out $500 instead of $50, getting the conversion factor wrong in my head…
*I ate a fried catepillar from a street food cart. A Chilean guy was munching on them and I thought I might as well try…it wasn’t so bad, but not something I think I’ll ever have a craving for.
*From the river boat bus, the temples and traditional architecture give way to sky scrapers. I took it (and then the skytrain) to Siam Square, an area with lots of funky little shops, though most were closed since it was the first day of the New Year. I then wandered to where Bridget was staying nearby, away from all the backpackers. The hotel, The Atlanta, was at the end of a long, quiet street that dead ended at a church. I was planning to just leave her a postcard, but luckily she was there, chatting with two college friends pool-side. The place was great, with a quaint little café and the world’s cutest old waitress. I was happy to have spent my birthday hanging out there, talking politics, pop culture and books.
Highlight: Thai New Year
Saving the best for last (except in the case of birth order)
On our first full day (the 12th), we started to see pockets of people standing on streets, drenching people. Often a whole family was involved. There were also pickup trucks, their back ends full of water barrels and Thais toting water guns and buckets. These trucks just cruised around, throwing water on people, but especially on other similar trucks. They were like gangs, doing driveby splashings.
I immediately decided I wanted to ride around on one, to experience Pii Mai (New Year), Thai-style. I got my chance that afternoon. A truck was pulled over to the side (the driver was having his lunch) and when they poured water on us, I asked them if we could go with them! They didn’t speak THAT much English, but we got by. They were happy to have us join them and Keith went along with my crazy scheme. We drove around, throwing water on people and taking a few swigs of their whiskey as it made the rounds. (The driver wasn’t drinking, but open trucks, with drunk adults and slippery floors could be quite a dangerous combination!) The ringleader was a big-bellied man named Yung!!! (We took to shouting it with enthusiasm, just like he had when he introduced himself.) He was forever trying to say our names and getting them wrong, slurring words and letters because he didn’t know that much English (and was not entirely sober…). There were some women in the 20s, a kid or two, and a few guys. One, a kickboxer, was vigilant about getting down off the truck and putting a white-powder-paste on other people’s faces: people in tuktuks, passengers in buses, pedestrians. We cruised with them for not quite two hours. At one point we had to refill our barrels, stopping at a makeshift roadside store: a couple of people with buckets and a garden hose, selling water!
The roads closest to our hostel area had been blocked off, so we had to walk through Khao San Road and all its madness. The crowd was thick (and very, very wet) and I was surprised that most of them were Thai. Since that’s Backpacker Land, I’d assumed it would be mostly foreigners, but was happily mistaken. We were already completely soaked, so the water that was thrown was not that big a deal. (Except the water that was ice cold, froze your blood in your veins and sent you into shock.) The big thing here seemed to be smearing paste on other people. I usually offered my face, thrusting my neck forward, to indicate I didn’t mind. At the same time, I’d dip into their bowls of paste and smear them (pretty sneaky, eh?). The only problem was when the paste got into my eyes—one night my vision was blurry for quite awhile after making it back to the hotel.
The following is from an article in the Bangkok Post:
“Songkran revelers are ignoring pressure to wear safety helmets and avoid powder play and spaghetti-strap tops, insisting they deserve leniency during the Thai New Year Festival. Police have warned motorcyclists to wear crash helmets, and urged young men not to apply powder to girls’ faces and bodies, though both sights were still common on Bangkok streets yesterday.
‘I don’t care if police arrest me for not wearing a helmet…I don’t look cool in a helmet. Girls can’t see my face,’ said Nathawut Supalak, 15….
Traimas Kerdprawat, 16, said scantily-dressed girls gathered at RCA at night to throw water. ‘They play from 7 pm to 2 am. I was there last night and almost all the girls wee in spaghetti-strap tops. No one was denied entry. Dressing is an individual’s right,’ she said.
On the 14th, I wandered the streets not far from where Bridget was staying, getting splashed (or in some cases, hosed) at least twice a block. I’d usually try to fake them out and then steal the bucket or hose and aim it back at the attacker (which amused them). Some of the people would even throw water into buses (though by this time, windows were up, the doors tended to stay open). The only people off limits seemed to be the police. I remember a car rolling up, the back window goes down, and a kid pulls out his Super Soaker, then they speed off, safe behind their windows!
I ended up walking by some 40-some hairdressers, who had set up camp outside their salon (bucket, bowls, food, and…whiskey!). They said they wanted a new friend and made me join them. I hung out with them for about an hour, throwing water on the trucks roaring by (who were also throwing water on us). The people right next door got a big barrel and filled it with freezing cold water; one of the men there loved to get me, even though our groups had joined forces for the most part.
After that, a few blocks away, I jumped on board another truck, this one with six guys, who had run out of water (until we stopped and filled up). The guys were all visibly shivering—it actually was getting kind of cold (about 4 pm) and the ice water didn’t make it any better. Some trucks had music playing and a guy from one of them ran over to us (traffic was stopped at a light) and made me stand up and dance around, making all the people in the 4 or 5 trucks nearby cheer.
I had a really good time, playing in the water like a little kid and hanging out with the Thai people. Swati Pii Mai!!!! (Happy New Year!)
Bangkok
Keith and I decided to take the ‘easy’ way to Bangkok—on a tourist bus, straight from our hostel door to the backpacker area of Bangkok. We had heard it would take longer, but were a bit unsure about dealing with service taxis since it was the day before New Year (Cambodia has their own Khmer New Year, with similar traditions of water-throwing and festivities). We were tightly squeezed in a minibus that had A/C problems, so that on the bumpy, dirt roads, we were flailing about and my nose was dying from the dust. I began to see why so many people covered their faces (especially if you were riding atop a truck, perched on odds and ends like many people do) and why cowboys wore bandanas. I rigged up my own, wetting it so that it would block more dust. It took us SIX hours to get to the border—we later learned that Bridget’s friends took a taxi to the border (just the two of them in the whole thing) for the same price our trip cost and they made it there in less than three hours, in much greater comfort. From the border, we switched to another SUV type van that was smooth sailing.
As soon as you pass out of Cambodia, in the netherworld before you reach Thailand, the beggars line the streets, jingling their cups and looking up, pleadingly. I’m not sure if they were Thai or Cambodian. Nor was the ownership of the Casino in the middle identifiable either.
Upon entering Backpacker Land, we were immediately christened, though thankfully just a bit of water, not a drenching. It was only the 11th, but the foreigners had begun their water fights earlier. I’m always conflicted about touristy areas—usually they’re centrally located and convenient to get to where everyone goes (that’s why they spring up), you have lots of options for hostels and restaurants, you can meet other people easily (though I’ve found more often than not that other backpackers kind of annoy me). At the same time, you see lots and lots of foreigners and don’t get a real taste for the city/country. The same goes for hostel-run trips (like that to the Cu Chi Tunnels in Vietnam)—you’re on board with other travelers, but it is just so much easier. It’s all also a product of the Lonely Planet cult; it’s every traveler’s bible. Which means that when you go to a place listed there, you’re gonna see others who found out about it in the same way as you. Avoiding this is one reason why I like living in a foreign country rather than just visiting—I don’t have to worry about hostelling and I can get insider’s information, a more authentic experience.
Tuktuk
A common mode of transport in Bangkok is the tuktuk—the closest thing I can compare it to is a golf cart. A driver stopped us to ask where we were going and offered to take us to see a few temples and then to the one we were headed to. He wrote out a list of places, including a visit to an export shop or something of the kind and quoted us a really low price, which we haggled down slightly (a little too easily in an element of foreshadowing) to about a dollar, I think. When we said we didn’t need to go to the export shop, he said that he’d get a free coupon (for gas?) and we’d just have to go look for a few minutes and wouldn’t have to buy. At this point, Keith and I both turned to each other and said, “Oh, I read about this in the Lonely Planet.” The LP had mentioned this as a gimmick of tuktuk drivers. We deliberated briefly and thought that we might as well go, since he claimed the temple we wanted to go to wouldn’t be open till the afternoon anyway.
The first place we went was closed that day to prepare for the New Year, but we met a nice man there who welcomed us to Bangkok. Then we went to the ‘export shop,’ which was a tailors. We looked through magazines at suits and examined the silk fabric. There was another white couple there when we arrived and another man came in while we were looking around; the tuktuk drivers hung out on the street outside.
We were then taken to the Standing Buddha. I was struck by the difference with this temple and others I’ve seen. Instead of the standard, uniform Buddha statute, there were pictures of real people and statutes with different faces and bodies than the typical one. I’m not sure who exactly these golden gods were supposed to be, but I think maybe they were respected monks. People were pouring water onto the statutes, which is where the whole water-New Year thing originates. You could even buy a bird and free it for good luck.
When we went back to where the driver had been waiting—he wasn’t there anymore! We wandered up and down the block, wondering where he could be. We hadn’t paid him yet, so were reluctant to just take off straightaway. Another tuktuk zoomed up, saying that our driver’s shift was over and so he’d left. Why would a driver leave without getting paid? Plus, he’d said he’d take us to the temple at 1 pm when it opened; it was only about noon at this point. The new driver tried to claim that he knew our old driver and that he’d take us, but I was skeptical of that. We think that the gimmick must have been to ditch us at the Standing Buddha temple because it wasn’t worth our driver’s time/money to take us to where we’d originally wanted to go; but he’d used us to get his free coupon. Aiya! Fortunately, after deciding to walk, our intuition led us to the river (no map) and we were able to take a river boat bus.
We went to Wat Pho, which was in full swing for the New Year. There were concession stands set up feet from the temples. There were palm readers and fortune tellers on temple grounds. Looks like the Christian religion isn’t the only one that commercializes religious holidays. Wat Pho has a School for Massage, so I went to do some research on behalf of my mom, massage therapist extraordinaire. The cost, about $4.50 US for half an hour. The room was set up with lots of beds; the one nearest to me was inches away. The massage student massages from the bed as well, not by walking around the table like in the US. At one point, she did this cool thing, using her feet to massage my legs. There was lots of pressure, not so much rubbing. And some weird angling and cracking, too. The woman that massaged me seemed bored out of her mind the whole time, staring into space or chatting up with the neighboring massage student.
At the National Palace, they’re really strict about the dress code. No flip flops, short pants, or tank tops (the official uniform of a backpacker, fyi) allowed, so they had a room of ‘borrowed clothes.’ The rest of the temples didn’t have any such restrictions, so I can only image it was out of respect for the King. We ended up not going because we didn’t want to wait in line and had seen enough temples lately! Plus, you couldn’t go inside and it was the heat of the day and we were hungry.
Muay Thai Kickboxing
We went to a Muay Thai kickboxing match one night. The tuktuk driver had taken us to a travel agent before he abandoned us, who informed us that we could only buy ringside tickets for the equivalent of $45 US. We knew (from the LP!) that there should be cheaper tickets for about $10, but she told us that they didn’t sell those anymore because lots of gambling happened at that seating level and it had caused problems. We didn’t really believe her, so made our way to the stadium ourselves. We bought the cheap tickets, which were bleacher seats instead of folding chairs, but there was plenty of room and no problems. The view was actually probably better, because we were higher up and not that far away. This section was full of Thai men, waving their hands in the air, some magic gambling signals we never figured out.
Coming into the ring with cloaks or capes on, they then did a little ritual Sumo-like (though these were skinny boys—100, 102, 110, and 126 lbs. were the weight classes). They’d bow their head to a corner post, then go to the next and do the same, till they covered all four. Then they would go to the middle, lunge onto one knee and rock back and forth, sometime rolling punches up in the air. They would do a little jump-dance from their knees, too. There were five rounds of three minutes each, with two minute rest periods between each. During the rest period, the kickboxer would sometimes get lifted up if the wind had been knocked out of him. Then he’d get a vigorous rubdown from two trainers, including sticking a hand down the front of their shorts!
People started to leave after the main event, but we discovered that the two women sitting nearest us were there because one of their sons was in the final fight, which was Queensbury style. Keith wanted to see what that meant, though he was practically falling asleep. Turns out it means normal boxing. By that time, the moms and us were the only ones left! We felt obliged to stay and were rewarded in the mom’s son knocked out the opponent in the second round, so we didn’t have to sit through the rest! Unfortunately, both of us missed the KO, since we were discussing whether or not we had to stay.
Odds 'n Ends
*Switching between currencies, I nearly took out $500 instead of $50, getting the conversion factor wrong in my head…
*I ate a fried catepillar from a street food cart. A Chilean guy was munching on them and I thought I might as well try…it wasn’t so bad, but not something I think I’ll ever have a craving for.
*From the river boat bus, the temples and traditional architecture give way to sky scrapers. I took it (and then the skytrain) to Siam Square, an area with lots of funky little shops, though most were closed since it was the first day of the New Year. I then wandered to where Bridget was staying nearby, away from all the backpackers. The hotel, The Atlanta, was at the end of a long, quiet street that dead ended at a church. I was planning to just leave her a postcard, but luckily she was there, chatting with two college friends pool-side. The place was great, with a quaint little café and the world’s cutest old waitress. I was happy to have spent my birthday hanging out there, talking politics, pop culture and books.
Highlight: Thai New Year
Saving the best for last (except in the case of birth order)
On our first full day (the 12th), we started to see pockets of people standing on streets, drenching people. Often a whole family was involved. There were also pickup trucks, their back ends full of water barrels and Thais toting water guns and buckets. These trucks just cruised around, throwing water on people, but especially on other similar trucks. They were like gangs, doing driveby splashings.
I immediately decided I wanted to ride around on one, to experience Pii Mai (New Year), Thai-style. I got my chance that afternoon. A truck was pulled over to the side (the driver was having his lunch) and when they poured water on us, I asked them if we could go with them! They didn’t speak THAT much English, but we got by. They were happy to have us join them and Keith went along with my crazy scheme. We drove around, throwing water on people and taking a few swigs of their whiskey as it made the rounds. (The driver wasn’t drinking, but open trucks, with drunk adults and slippery floors could be quite a dangerous combination!) The ringleader was a big-bellied man named Yung!!! (We took to shouting it with enthusiasm, just like he had when he introduced himself.) He was forever trying to say our names and getting them wrong, slurring words and letters because he didn’t know that much English (and was not entirely sober…). There were some women in the 20s, a kid or two, and a few guys. One, a kickboxer, was vigilant about getting down off the truck and putting a white-powder-paste on other people’s faces: people in tuktuks, passengers in buses, pedestrians. We cruised with them for not quite two hours. At one point we had to refill our barrels, stopping at a makeshift roadside store: a couple of people with buckets and a garden hose, selling water!
The roads closest to our hostel area had been blocked off, so we had to walk through Khao San Road and all its madness. The crowd was thick (and very, very wet) and I was surprised that most of them were Thai. Since that’s Backpacker Land, I’d assumed it would be mostly foreigners, but was happily mistaken. We were already completely soaked, so the water that was thrown was not that big a deal. (Except the water that was ice cold, froze your blood in your veins and sent you into shock.) The big thing here seemed to be smearing paste on other people. I usually offered my face, thrusting my neck forward, to indicate I didn’t mind. At the same time, I’d dip into their bowls of paste and smear them (pretty sneaky, eh?). The only problem was when the paste got into my eyes—one night my vision was blurry for quite awhile after making it back to the hotel.
The following is from an article in the Bangkok Post:
“Songkran revelers are ignoring pressure to wear safety helmets and avoid powder play and spaghetti-strap tops, insisting they deserve leniency during the Thai New Year Festival. Police have warned motorcyclists to wear crash helmets, and urged young men not to apply powder to girls’ faces and bodies, though both sights were still common on Bangkok streets yesterday.
‘I don’t care if police arrest me for not wearing a helmet…I don’t look cool in a helmet. Girls can’t see my face,’ said Nathawut Supalak, 15….
Traimas Kerdprawat, 16, said scantily-dressed girls gathered at RCA at night to throw water. ‘They play from 7 pm to 2 am. I was there last night and almost all the girls wee in spaghetti-strap tops. No one was denied entry. Dressing is an individual’s right,’ she said.
On the 14th, I wandered the streets not far from where Bridget was staying, getting splashed (or in some cases, hosed) at least twice a block. I’d usually try to fake them out and then steal the bucket or hose and aim it back at the attacker (which amused them). Some of the people would even throw water into buses (though by this time, windows were up, the doors tended to stay open). The only people off limits seemed to be the police. I remember a car rolling up, the back window goes down, and a kid pulls out his Super Soaker, then they speed off, safe behind their windows!
I ended up walking by some 40-some hairdressers, who had set up camp outside their salon (bucket, bowls, food, and…whiskey!). They said they wanted a new friend and made me join them. I hung out with them for about an hour, throwing water on the trucks roaring by (who were also throwing water on us). The people right next door got a big barrel and filled it with freezing cold water; one of the men there loved to get me, even though our groups had joined forces for the most part.
After that, a few blocks away, I jumped on board another truck, this one with six guys, who had run out of water (until we stopped and filled up). The guys were all visibly shivering—it actually was getting kind of cold (about 4 pm) and the ice water didn’t make it any better. Some trucks had music playing and a guy from one of them ran over to us (traffic was stopped at a light) and made me stand up and dance around, making all the people in the 4 or 5 trucks nearby cheer.
I had a really good time, playing in the water like a little kid and hanging out with the Thai people. Swati Pii Mai!!!! (Happy New Year!)
