Bangkok Becomes Familiar
Thailand is known for its sex industry. Didn't Michael Jackson used to visit here? When I first arrived at the Bangkok airport, I saw a pair of comic-book-ugly American men. I instantly assumed they were here for sex. Then, I noticed older Caucasian men with younger Asian women. But, one must be careful in what one assumes, as sometimes you discover that these couples have been married for a decade. I also see six foot tall Caucasian women with Adam's apples, who came here for sex change operations.
I meet a fellow traveller who explains the sex industry to me. A Thai woman gets married as a teenager, then the husband leaves. To support the family, the woman travels to the big city of Bangkok. She sends money home to her mother, to support her children. She propositions on the street or in bar. The hotel takes her identification while she visits a man for sex. Men pay her a standard rate, 1000 Baht, for a couple of hours. The Bangkok sex industry is about economics and prostitutes are "business women" in a pure sense. The papers say that younger and younger girls are involved, based on tourists' fear of acquiring AIDS. I believe it, though I don't see it. (There is much going on that I will not see.) The women I see on the street appear to be college age or older. Sex is even less expensive in the Philippines, the fellow traveller, who is engaged to a woman there, tells me.
I am in the same neighborhood, Nana Nua Street, in Bangkok for the fifth night. Nam has been delivered to my room for three nights in a row. I have eaten Ethiopian food twice. I have developed an appreciation of the athleticism of a young peg-legged beggar, who crawls to a bowl, always knocking it forward, hour after hour, day after day. The t-shirts, used books and women in short skirts are "same, same". I am even becoming familiar with other Bangkok neighborhoods. A man in Siam Square has chased me down twice, and even showed me his Tourism Office badge, while trying to get me through the doors of a clothing store. A six foot tall elephant, on the sidewalk between the train station and hotel surprises me.
I sniff at previously worn clothes, and can detect odor in only two shirts. Some twice worn shirts have no odor. The odor of clothes must be above the background radiation of smelly diesel buses to be discernible here. Buying a new shirt (150 Baht, $3.75) is the same price as doing laundry.
I discover ferries, which traverse to the other side of town, nearer to the Grand Palace. They are inexpensive (10 Baht, 25 cents), and a fringe benefit is the cool, breeze of the river. I return on the boat to Central Pier, near the Sky Train, and walk around, and walk, and walk, and walk without seeing the typical number of Caucasians. I find the "Future World" shopping area, on Chareon Kung Road, where they sell modern washing machines in an upscale HomePro store. My feet hurt. I don't trust the taxi drivers and I don't know where the buses are going. I am near the river and find a ferry terminal. It is closed. Now what?
I go across the street to catch a bus toward the Sky Train station by Central Pier. However, the bus quickly crosses the river. I exit the bus at "Shopping Center Mall," an air conditioned mall with a Ronald McDonald, doing a "wah". The wah is a Buddhist bow and prayer pose, which you will receive when you pay for an item or give a tip. I hop on a 75 bus, which I hope will take me back across the river. A Thai man asks where I am going, writes a note with instructions to bus fare collector, and tells me that I need to get off and catch the 75 bus going the opposite direction. About 45 minutes later (10 p.m.), I am on the 75 Bus, crossing the river toward Central Pier and the Sky Train. The fare collector points out the window to the Sky train terminal, which I would have never noticed. I make it back to the hotel at 11 p.m., exhausted.
I again take the Skytrain to the ferry to the far end of Bangkok. I go to Wat Pho and see the 50 yard long reclining Buddha. I go to the Grand Palace, get sun-burned, and see the Emerald Buddha. I find Khaosan, the Backpackers district and a major tourist area. Here, I find Toon Travel, which was recommended to me, while I was in California, in February. Having found a travel agent that I trust, I give her my passport, and pay for visas to Cambodia, Laos and Viet Nam.
Toon Travel sends me back to my hotel a different way. Instead of the Skytrain to ferry connection, there is a direct river route that goes to within a block of my hotel. The top of the boat is lowered when crossing under bridges. A tarp is raised to keep the river water from splashing into the boat, and lowered to allow people to enter and exit. It costs 9 Baht (25 cents) for my trip. As I exit, near my hotel, I see naked children swimming in the polluted river. Maybe, this is the third world.
I have not made it to MaeNam, the beach island to the south recommended by Bethany. Phuket, hit by the tsunami, and therefore lacking in tourists, has also been recommended. I would be there, except for the twelve hour bus ride and my reaction to some of the Thai food. Instead, I stay in the hotel and read James Gleick's "Isaac Newton" and then start to read "Fast Food Nation."
I meet a fellow traveller who explains the sex industry to me. A Thai woman gets married as a teenager, then the husband leaves. To support the family, the woman travels to the big city of Bangkok. She sends money home to her mother, to support her children. She propositions on the street or in bar. The hotel takes her identification while she visits a man for sex. Men pay her a standard rate, 1000 Baht, for a couple of hours. The Bangkok sex industry is about economics and prostitutes are "business women" in a pure sense. The papers say that younger and younger girls are involved, based on tourists' fear of acquiring AIDS. I believe it, though I don't see it. (There is much going on that I will not see.) The women I see on the street appear to be college age or older. Sex is even less expensive in the Philippines, the fellow traveller, who is engaged to a woman there, tells me.
I am in the same neighborhood, Nana Nua Street, in Bangkok for the fifth night. Nam has been delivered to my room for three nights in a row. I have eaten Ethiopian food twice. I have developed an appreciation of the athleticism of a young peg-legged beggar, who crawls to a bowl, always knocking it forward, hour after hour, day after day. The t-shirts, used books and women in short skirts are "same, same". I am even becoming familiar with other Bangkok neighborhoods. A man in Siam Square has chased me down twice, and even showed me his Tourism Office badge, while trying to get me through the doors of a clothing store. A six foot tall elephant, on the sidewalk between the train station and hotel surprises me.
I sniff at previously worn clothes, and can detect odor in only two shirts. Some twice worn shirts have no odor. The odor of clothes must be above the background radiation of smelly diesel buses to be discernible here. Buying a new shirt (150 Baht, $3.75) is the same price as doing laundry.
I discover ferries, which traverse to the other side of town, nearer to the Grand Palace. They are inexpensive (10 Baht, 25 cents), and a fringe benefit is the cool, breeze of the river. I return on the boat to Central Pier, near the Sky Train, and walk around, and walk, and walk, and walk without seeing the typical number of Caucasians. I find the "Future World" shopping area, on Chareon Kung Road, where they sell modern washing machines in an upscale HomePro store. My feet hurt. I don't trust the taxi drivers and I don't know where the buses are going. I am near the river and find a ferry terminal. It is closed. Now what?
I go across the street to catch a bus toward the Sky Train station by Central Pier. However, the bus quickly crosses the river. I exit the bus at "Shopping Center Mall," an air conditioned mall with a Ronald McDonald, doing a "wah". The wah is a Buddhist bow and prayer pose, which you will receive when you pay for an item or give a tip. I hop on a 75 bus, which I hope will take me back across the river. A Thai man asks where I am going, writes a note with instructions to bus fare collector, and tells me that I need to get off and catch the 75 bus going the opposite direction. About 45 minutes later (10 p.m.), I am on the 75 Bus, crossing the river toward Central Pier and the Sky Train. The fare collector points out the window to the Sky train terminal, which I would have never noticed. I make it back to the hotel at 11 p.m., exhausted.
I again take the Skytrain to the ferry to the far end of Bangkok. I go to Wat Pho and see the 50 yard long reclining Buddha. I go to the Grand Palace, get sun-burned, and see the Emerald Buddha. I find Khaosan, the Backpackers district and a major tourist area. Here, I find Toon Travel, which was recommended to me, while I was in California, in February. Having found a travel agent that I trust, I give her my passport, and pay for visas to Cambodia, Laos and Viet Nam.
Toon Travel sends me back to my hotel a different way. Instead of the Skytrain to ferry connection, there is a direct river route that goes to within a block of my hotel. The top of the boat is lowered when crossing under bridges. A tarp is raised to keep the river water from splashing into the boat, and lowered to allow people to enter and exit. It costs 9 Baht (25 cents) for my trip. As I exit, near my hotel, I see naked children swimming in the polluted river. Maybe, this is the third world.
I have not made it to MaeNam, the beach island to the south recommended by Bethany. Phuket, hit by the tsunami, and therefore lacking in tourists, has also been recommended. I would be there, except for the twelve hour bus ride and my reaction to some of the Thai food. Instead, I stay in the hotel and read James Gleick's "Isaac Newton" and then start to read "Fast Food Nation."
Labels: travel
posted by David Rasmussen at 3:39 AM
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