Bangkok Bus 53 {1}

Into the City

I’m finally settled in to my guesthouse off Samsean Road in central Bangkok.

After checking out of my previous hotel, I walked down the soi of last night, now in the sun and with my backpack heavy on my shoulders. The heat and humidity were engulfing. By the time I came to the main road my back was soaked and my hat band was dripping wet. I meandered in the direction that the desk clerk suggested I follow in order to catch a bus. After a few blocks my eyes were distracted by the glittering beauty of a temple soaring above surrounding sois with the mishmash of buildings below. I left the main road again and walked along the small soi over a greatly humpbacked canal bridge to the temple grounds.

Thai temples sparkle with carved representations of Nature – gilded-gold, they reflect the power of the sun.

Thai Temples

The temple loomed overhead and was reached by a series of stairs breached by a half open gate. The stairs were guarded on each side by scaled naga ( dragons) whose bodies  formed the balustrade. They undulated down the sides of each staircase. Then they rose up, multi-headed and frightening at the base baluster.

I climbed the stairs.

No one was there and I walked around its marbled veranda entirely. All the heavily carved, gilded doors were shut but I was greatly rewarded by the elevated view and the skilled work of craftsmen long dead. The carvings glimmered in the sun and the garuda-inspired rooftops and mirror-flecked spires soared and made religion believable once again.

[There is some debate over Buddhism as a religion or a philosophy. Philosophy is defined as “the rational investigation of the truths and principles of being, knowledge, or conduct.” And, ultimately, who cares?]

Let Sleeping Dogs [or Ducks] Lie

The monks housing spread out below and there were orange and yellow robes hung out taut on bamboo poles to dry in the sun. Two klongs [canals] intersected nearby. On a long, wooden dock a pack of dogs lazed sunning above the dense tangle of grasses and vines that tumbled to the murky waters below.

Sleeping Dogs Lie

On the canals edge were a string of wooden houses on stilts with plank-gapped porches that stilettoed out over the water. On one porch a woman deftly plucked and hacked, with some violence, a dozen or so throat-slit ducks. Their pale yellow bodies gleamed in bright contrast to the dark, bloodstained teak floorboards. She tossed their entrails which plummeted through their feathers that zigzagged lazily to the dark, soupy waters of the canal below.

In the water a large group  of carp thrashed and fought over the bloody scraps.

I made my way back to the main road. After asking at a hardware store clerk how to get into the city, I hopped a song-taw (a small, two benched pick-up truck) to the Sky Train. This goes to the city center. The AC of the train and the sudden modernity were in harsh contrast to the experience of the last hour. I marveled, once again, at the great divisions and disparities – the ultimate dichotomy that is Bangkok.

Zipping along above the city was a marvel of modern construction. All around, the landscape was punctuated with cranes and new skyscrapers that are rising. They fragment the wiser spread of green trees and the low, practical buildings of the past.

Where You Go?

Taxi Scooter – Helmets are mandatory – A Traumatic Brain Injured dream come true

I got off the Sky Train and walked down three fights of stairs to the chaos below. While walking in the direction of the mighty Chao Phraya River [the mother and lifeblood of Bangkok]  I stopped to check my app and realized it was at least a 45 minute walk to where I wanted to go. With a backpack, books and heat it would be not much fun. Standing at a busy crosswalk at an even busier and crazily trafficked road I  contemplated my next move. Suddenly a guy on a scooter swerved out of the traffic. He  jumped the curb, stopped by my side then asked,

“Where you go?”

He wore a bright orange vest numbered 83.

I told him in Thai that I was going to Samsaen Road, Soi 1, to the Villa Guesthouse. He said he’d take me there for 100 baht. Figuring that was about $3, I said sure. Next he handed me a bright pink helmet, a recent law he said – the helmet, not the pink. After getting on the scooter and adjusting my backpack, we were off.

Contact High

We nimbly wove our way in and out of traffic. In no time we raced along, threading our way narrowly between cars. When coming to the head of the traffic pack at a red light, we sped ahead of them to the the next red light. Stopping and starting, I nearly toppled off backwards with the weight of my backpack, the thrust of his throttle. I had to grab his waist as we zipped along – me all giddy with the speed, the danger and the contact high.

Soon his speed slowed though.

It became obvious that he didn’t know where he was going. With typical Thai nonchalance and ‘Mai pen rai’ (never mind) attitude, we chatted as we drove slowly along. We looked for street signs, clues as to our whereabouts. Over these few quick miles we became fast friends. He wasn’t annoyed or frustrated by the circumstance or loss of time and money. Neither was I.

His concern was about his inability to help me to my destination.

She knew where to go

I finally suggested we stop and ask someone. As often happens here, a question asked turns into communal consensus. We were soon surrounded by five taxi drivers. Two tuk-tuk drivers. A woman sitting at an ancient peddle sewing machine on the sidewalk. They all yelled out their two cents worth of information. Finally, they all decided that we needed to turn around and enter a soi under a large gateway to the nearby Wat.

Indeed, it did the trick.

My driver, happy with his 100B and problem solved, sped off into the wheel of traffic.

Burdened once again with my backpack and walking, I made my way down the narrow walkway. The large wooden gate of the Villa Guesthouse stood before me.

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