Welcome to Bangkok, Caveat Emptor.

Based on T.R. Reid's writing in Confucius Lives Next Door, I have a rather skewed impression of the Japanese. As a result, I figure that if Bangkok were temporarily handed over to them, until they could start the inevitable ravenous cleanup, the signs in the airport would read something like this:

"Welcome to humble Bangkok! We are so glad that the honourable traveler can visit our city. Please pick up your complimentary ear and nose plugs, bike helmet, and antiseptic wipes at the desk before exiting the airport. It is recommended that you do not inhale while you are inside the city limits, and please do not touch anything."

People talked about Hong Kong and Seoul as being smelly. I suppose that Hong Kong had its moments, and I certainly recall several oppresive scents in Korea, on both ends of the country.

Bangkok, however, is an assault on the nostrils like nowhere else I've been on earth.

I arrived late last night and caught a taxi to my hotel. I'd been told the taxi would run between 400 and 500 baht (about 15 bucks) and so when my driver told me he'd flat rate it at 400 rather than use the meter, I agreed. It was late enough at night that traffic was clear, and I could probably have gotten a better deal from the meter, but I was tired, so I didn't complain.

My hotel is a hippie paradise called Shanti Lodge. I have a single room with the firmest double bed I've ever felt. It's a pretty cool place. It has its own little restaurant (decent) and helpful staff. The room is actually set up so that you have to drop your key in a little slot in order to turn on power to the fan and lights, which is a pretty cool way to make sure that people don't waste electricity while they're out wandering the city. (Editor's note: I've since discovered this ingenious practice is common across hotels in Thailand)

I crashed pretty soon after arriving, as I was worn out from the trip from Bali, and this morning I relaxed in the hotel and wrote until noon.

After that, I headed to Khao San road. Khao San is one of those classic backpacker havens that's become so molded to the tourist population it serves that it no longer seemes real. I had heard about it, and I kindof wanted to see it for myself. Its a funny place, vendors sell pirated DVDs, Offensive T shirts and brass knuckles on the sidewalk, and white kids buy cheap bracelets from bored Thais in shirts covered in English words that mean nothing.

I saw several shirts with Michael Jackson's image and the years of his birth and death. The tourist goods trade is nothing if not quick to adapt.

I'd heard that there was a really good Thai place there, that had sprung up before Khao San went crazy, and stuck around as the hallmark of decent food.

I wasn't really hungry yet though, after my late breakfast, and I'd had enough of dreadlocked white girls obviously spending someone else's money to play international vagrant so instead I wandered past Khoa San and into the Grand Palace. The Grand Palace grounds are covered in buildings. The Thai have been modifying and improving the place since the 1700s, and it has the varied architecture and bizarre layout to prove it.

One of the big attractions of the Grand Palace grounds is the Temple of the Emerald Bhudda. He's actually solid Jade, but he's still fascinating (and not just because they dress him up in different outfits depending on the time of year). He's been moved all over the place, his story reads like that of the Ark of the Covenant. Covered in plaster when he was discovered, so no-one knows when he was originally carved, cleaned up and installed in one palace, then moved to another. Taken to Laos by a Laotian who was interim King of Thailand, returned after a Thai king invaded Laos and took it back by force. Now safely ensconced in the heart of Thailand's capital. He's actually pretty tiny, but the temple in which he's seated is huge, beautiful, ornate, and over 200 years old. I took some pictures of him way off in the background, since no photographs are allowed inside, so he's a bit blurry.

The temple is still actively used by Buddhist worshipers throughout the day, and there are people constantly stopping outside to perform a rather remarkable action. They'll take a rose from a pile in front of the temple, and dip it in a big cistern of water that sits directly under the watchful gave of the Emerald Buddha, then they tap the rose on their head and chest, to knock off the water onto themselves. This water residue is apparently important, although I'm not sure what it signifies. Another question for Quang when I return.


The buildings in the Temple part of the compound are all very ornately furnished. The Thai seem to have developed a habit of just gilding and decorating until the entire surface of a thing glitters with a thousand reflective surfaces. It's pretty, but not especially my style, and it tends to distort and confuse the eye.

The elaborate murals that surround the grounds are beautiful, however, and are made more eye catching by the use of gold paint throughout. They are constantly in a state of restoration, and the work looks meticulous and painstaking.

I wandered on, past more modern gardens and into the area of the heart of the palace. After being horrified and shamed by observing the behaviour of American tourists during my first visit to London in 1999, I made it a rule to try my best to never tease, mock, or otherwise belittle a palace guard. It's a pretty thankless job anyway, and having tourists coming and give you the bunny ears so they can get that funny picture to show people at home must be wretched. I will, in fact, go out of my way to leave them unphotographed entirely, as a rule.

I took a few here though, because I thought there ceremonies were interesting, and I wasn't telling my friend to pretend to ask him for directions on a map, or hump his leg like a dog. This I don't get: Thailand's palace guards are issued Bayonets (I watched them do a prepare and present ceremony right in front of me), but they aren't allowed to keep a full magazine in the weapon. Furthermore, the only place they could possible keep a full mag in this uniform must be in that thing on their backs, which would be hella inconvenient to get to when the poo hits the fan, wouldn't it? I mean, I know they're more form than function and all, but this just seems unnecessarily cruel--they aren't exactly carrying around antiques, they're relatively modern firearms, but they are crippled without any ammunition to speak of.

I also found it interesting that when one guard relieves another, the relieved guard then turns around and carefully adjusts all of the new guy's accoutrements, making sure his helmet isn't crooked, smoothing out his sleeves or medals, that kind of thing. It's interesting to watch.

The courtyard where most of the palace guards are located is also interesting because it appears that Dr. Suess hasn't died, he's just got to live as a Palace Gardener. There were rows upon rows of these trees, and with the, to western eyes, odd architecture choices in many places, all I could think was that the people looked too normal, and if they could just get some of the creatures from "Oh, the Places you'll go!" in the shot, it'd look like a live action Dr. Suess book.

The Thais managed to do a better job integrating their architecture with the Western style, I think, than the other cultures I've seen so far. Certainly better than the Koreans did. At the place in Korea where I took the pictures of the beautiful eastern and western façades, there was a rather wretched little pavilion at the DeokSugung palace that I couldn't bring myself to photograph, it was so ugly. The building was an attempt by a Russian architect to marry the eastern and western traditions, and it was a disaster. This building does a better job, creating a transition from western foundation to Eastern second story and roof that actually looks somewhat decent, at least by comparison to the other attempts I've seen.

One thing I noticed was that it was the end of the Thai school year. There were several kids in full black gowns with Orange trim, having their pictures taken around the palace with a few family members. I would find out that the actual graduation ceremonies were the next day, but I'd discover that on accident, and suffer for the lesson.

When I finished with the Grand Palace, I hiked back to Khao San and found the restaurant I'd been recommended. The sky opened up just after I arrived, and I was actually thankful for all the vendor's stalls, as they'd covered themselves all in plastic sheeting so you could walk almost from one end of the road to the other without so much as a drop hitting you. I had a beer and a plate of ridiculously tasty seafood stuffed curry pastries, which I can't even begin to describe except that they were delicious, and I needed friends to finish them all.

When I'd finished my food, it was almost 5pm. I knew from the schedule I'd seen posted online, that the local Muay Thai stadium (Ratchamandoen) was hosting some fights tonight, so I caught a Tuk-Tuk to the Stadium. The fare was actually pretty cheap, and the guy didn't even try to gouge me too much to start with, which surprised me--I've been hearing horror stories of the Tuk Tuk drivers here whenever I research Bangkok, but this guy wasn't bad. He did offer to divert me so I could buy a ticket from a place he knew, but I shot him down and he took me straight to the stadium. I tried to get a picture, as that was my first time in a Tuk Tuk.

Tickets to the evening's matches turned out to be ridiculously expensive--the cheap seats were 1,000 Baht, and they were behind chain link. I settled on the middle option, which I felt good about because that's where I found all the Thais as well. The only people in the cheap seats were Foreigners, and about half the "VIP" Ringside seats (which were so low down I imagine the view wasn't really that great) were also white people. The middle area was a throng of perhaps 300 Thais, mainly middle aged men, betting between each round and shouting "EE!" whenever the fellow they had bet on landed a good hit. Since most of the cheering was motivated by the betting, the first couple of rounds were always quiet, with the shouts increasing in passion as more and more money was committed.

Muay Thai is a really remarkable sport to watch, but it seems to have become very focused on the clinch. I can't tell if this is a strategic advantage from a 'damage potential' point of view, or if the judges propensity for awarding in the direction of the person who landed the most good hits (and them including knees in the clinch as good hits) has skewed the strategy somewhat.

Most of the fighters were young, the first couple couldn't have been more than 12 or 13, the last few were maybe into their early 20s. They were all reed-thin, and there was a pretty severe height disparity in a couple of the bouts, which surprised me.

The action was furious and the crowd, though small, was invested, and their joyous shouts at each good hit were heartfelt. I tried to capture an image of the men betting, but it is very dark. They bet by raising their hands, apparently trying to catch a bookie's eye, and they would hold up a number of fingers. I don't know if they were trying to call odds, or a scoring spread, or what, but there they'd be, gesturing with a handful of extended figures and the loud chatter of Thai negotiation in the air between each round. If you're going to watch a Muay Thai bout, I suppose this was certainly the way to do it.

On the way home, I took an even more dangerous mode of transportation--Motorcycle Taxi. Bangkok's motorcycle taxis are the only form of transportation over city roads that are impervious to the terrible traffic jams the city experiences, otherwise you'll have to hop in a water ferry, and those obviously have limited routes.

The driver is required to provide you with a helmet, and they're generally cheaper than Taxis or Tuk Tuks, and mostly ridden by locals or the braver tourists.

I wasn't thinking when I signed up to ride one, the fellow offering transport had revved his wrists at me, but my brain hadn't really processed the universal sign language for motorbike until I got nearer and we'd already settled on a (very reasonable) price. The rain had stopped, thankfully, but the roads were still slick and shiny. I made small talk with my driver while we whizzed past cars and squeezed between buses. It actually went by very quickly, and was less hair-raising than I'd expected. Perhaps I'll try again later in the trip, sitting backwards with all my luggage in my lap, to try to qualify as a wannabe local. (of course they'd do it with a big screen TV and a small child as well, but I don't think I'll ever be that crazy).