Death valley supports a surprising amount of life. I was expecting grey desert, but there *is* water (I saw a puddle, although it was so salty you’d be seriously ill if you drank it) and vegetation. Life goes on. Bangkok felt similar, with people just getting on with it – stalls in front of shops, a little cafe below a dual-carriageway bridge, street vendors on street corners.
On the skytrain to the airport, scenes alternated between run-down residential areas, industrial sites and affluent developments. The landscape is an intriguing mixture of concrete and lush vegetation. I wasn’t sad to leave, because I knew I’d be coming back.. I may even plan to spend a few more days here before my flight home, and wondered how I’d feel about returning to somewhere months, and hopefully many adventures, later…
Smallest commercial plane I’ve ever been on – it was more like a single-decker bus with wings. It was a bumpy ride with a flight path like a traffic cone: up, along a little bit, and back down.
I totally needed the chocolate cupcake:
Arriving Siem Reap (pronounced “See-um Ree-up”) was uneventful, apart from the man at passport control who would benefit from some customer service training (his distaste for all who crossed his path was almost tangible). Cambodian writing was the first thing I noticed – distinctly different from Thai (but still completely unintelligible to someone who only speaks Latin-based languages).
“Is this the bus into the centre?” I asked three blokes throwing their bags in the back of a minivan.
“Sure, hop in.” Turns out it was their hotel transfer… and that my hotel was only three doors away. But, unfortunately, the driver was wrong, and it wasn’t. I grabbed a map, and headed in vaguely the right direction. And then the heavens opened:
Not for the first time, I arrived (an hour later) at my hotel dripping and tired. And again, they couldn’t have been nicer (but no upgrade – perhaps I should have mentioned my pants 😉 ).
Some random information about Cambodia (not verified, but from fairly reliable sources):
It’s about one and a half times the size of England
It has a population of about 15 million
90% are Khmer
96% are Theravada Buddhist
20% of the population were killed by the Khmer Rouge (so now 15 million)
50% are younger than 15 years old
It uses US dollars (USD), with the Cambodian riel (KHR) only for amounts below $1
With an average annual income of just $944 per capita, it’s the third poorest country in Asia (after Nepal and Bangladesh)
It has one of the highest rates of deforestation: primary rainforest cover fell from over 70% (1970) to just 3.1% (2007)
Cambodia has changed its name more frequently than almost any other country in the world – a sign of its turbulent past…?
Traditionally, birthdays are not celebrated in Cambodia. Older people might not even know their birthdays.
Ken learnt his (rather good) English from the Harry Potter movies. “You talk like Harry”, he enthused. I’d got to the Grand Palace before the crowds, bought a ticket and spent some time with the “Emerald Buddha” (those who discovered him thought he was made of emerald as they’d never heard of jade, and the name stuck). He has three costume changes: hot season, rainy season and cold season.
I decided to get a guide. The place was huge and, unlike Wat Pho, information boards were non-existent. Signed up for the free tour (which wasn’t advertised), and I was the only one. So it was just me and Harry. I mean, Ken.
The temple of the Grand Palace has no monks as it is a royal temple, so is a mixture of religion (ordination room, Buddhist shrine) and royalty (buildings to house the accoutrements and remains of past kings).
It was originally built in wood, due to lack of funds, by King Rama I. By the time his grandson (King Rama III – they display a distinct lack of imagination when naming their offspring) reigned, Siam was more prosperous due to trade with China, and he had it covered with gold leaf (which only took three years to complete because everyone came to help), and then “jewels” (glass). Four colours of glass represent the four elements: red (fire), blue (water), silver (air) and yellow (earth):
Around the temple are galleries (much like “cloisters”) with “the world’s longest painting” (according to Ken; according to Google that’s in Eritrea) depicting the story of how the queen was captured by demons and humans enlisted help of monkeys (who could make themselves super-strong and grow three extra pairs of arms) to defeat them and rescue her. School children learn the story and study sections of it much like our nativity story and the Bible.
There was also a rather impressive model of Angkor Wat (the main attraction in Cambodia) as it used to “belong” to Siam (when they invaded Cambodia; it was then subsequently invaded by the French):
The main residential building of the Grand Palace itself is built in the French style, supposedly to show more developed nations that “they could do it, too”. At this point Ken also referred to Buckingham Palace.
The princess doesn’t live in the main building, but a plainer edifice behind it, as she married a commoner, thus diluting the royal blood line – whilst she retains her title, none of her offspring have royal status (in fact, her son was killed in the tsunami, and did not get a royal burial).
And then Ken pointed to it – an imitation Buckingham Palace… but it’s in Thailand, so the king had a Thai roof put on it. And it has a French interior.
And it comes complete with guards (with a different hat because our furry variety is way too hot for here) and tourists:
Seriously, you couldn’t make this up!
I also saw the throne room. It actually has two thrones because the original (by Rama I), is triangle-shaped and uncomfortable to sit in so Rama III had another one made. When ordained, the new king is given five things by his predecessor:
Crown (power)
Sword (military victory)
Staff (longevity)
Fan (health – to bat away disease)
Shoes (care of the people)
The gold crown (7.3kg) and shoes (6.5kg) are heavy, so he keeps all this stuff in his bedroom!
A museum of coins, medals and royal paraphenalia was mediocre. When I emerged at about 1:30pm the main palace entrance was absolutely heaving – so glad I got before all the tour parties arrived. Then to the “Queen Sirikit Textile Museum” that was also included in the ticket price. Clothes aren’t really my thing (if you hadn’t already worked that out!), but it was actually quite interesting (no photos allowed for obvious reasons). And the exit, as per usual, was via the gift shop. But this was like no other I’ve seen – instead of the usual tat of pencils, jars of jam, branded poor-quality chocolate and plastic stuff, it was filled with fabrics, clothes and a variety of items made using Thai silk, supporting a charity that supports local Thai craftspeople. Quality items from table runners, toiletry bags and picture frames to scarves, hand bags and key rings:
Then I wandered back to my hotel, via Khao San Road, to further cries of “Tuk-tuk?”
Unofficial contracts are often stronger than official ones. Breaking the latter usually has a defined financial penalty that is clearly stated in writing, whereas breaking an unofficial contract jeopardises the fabric upon which it is built, with potential social, reputational and/or psychological implications. The agreement between Bangkok and its tourists seems to be: You shall not take advantage of the numerous opportunities to walk off without paying (because a £1.80 dinner bill is not worth negotiating the Thai legal system for); and we shall not overtly steal your stuff… but apart from that, you’re fair game including, but not limited to, gratuitous overcharging and luring you into compromising situations.
And so to “The Grand Palace” amidst cries of “tuk-tuk?” and “Where you going?” (the last word pronounced with only one syllable). It’s hot here, but I like to walk – you don’t just see more, you feel more. But it’s unusual… and it means you’re fodder.
I aborted the Grand Palace plan when I saw the throngs outside – inside could only be worse. It was already late (jet lag and a poor nights’ sleep having caught up on me) and I didn’t think I’d get round – it looked big. Postponed until tomorrow.
“Wat Pho” (Temple of the Reclining Buddha), on the other hand, was round the corner, smaller and open til 5:30. He’s big, he’s gold…
and he’s currently having a pedicure.
He was impressive, but not as much as the building he was in: intricate paintings, ornate with bling.
Many visitors buy a dish of coins, dropping a coin in each of a line of larger bowls along the wall. It’s for good luck. It’s amazing what people will do for “good luck”. I believe you make your own luck 😉
But it’s the diagrams and their associated medical descriptions for which the temple most respected. They form the basis of Thai massage and herbal medicine and are still referred to today.
The main Buddhist shrine was relatively calm, albeit with a touristy vibe.
Shoes off, and if you want to take them in with you, they have to be in a bag (feet are considered “dirty”, as opposed to the head which is revered – never touch a Buddhist’s head without permission). For females, shoulders and knees are to be covered (nothing mentioned about chesticles/cleavage though, which was odd), so there was a supply of shawls and skirts outside. I’d done my research and knew the etiquette… and then had totally forgotten. Wasn’t best pleased with myself (although, to be fair, I’d planned to visit the Grand Palace).
For men, anything goes (and did!).
A Buddha’s hat top, ears and hand position give away the era in which they were made. For example, this one is fairly recent as it has a pointed hat top (as opposed to more rounded), long curved ears (earlier versions’ are less exaggerated) and curved palms (not straight fingers):
And notably for a monastery, there weren’t many monks and very few natives. Decorations were ornate and impressive. Not my style, admittedly, but you don’t have to like something to be able to admire it 😉
Three things gave away that I was in a non-touristy area:
Only official signs were translated
Shop owners didn’t hassle me as I walked past (although I clearly wasn’t the target audience for the one selling twice life-size, spray-painted gold Buddhas)
Only a few tuk-tuks went past, and those that did were either carrying locals or didn’t shout at me
Starving – it was now 4:30 and I’d only had a slice of melon all day (afterwards, I realised, that I paid double the going rate for it – you can’t let it get to you, but it does leave a bad taste). Stopping at a stall with appetising fish cakes, I asked how much they were. “One is 5 baht (9p)”, she said, holding up a splayed hand. I nodded and said, “Three, please”, holding up three fingers. She hesitated, then gave me my lunch. She thought I was haggling with her! I realised as I sat and ate. If you, gracious lady, have the courtesy to quote a fair price, I will have the grace to accept. They were delicious.
I stumbled across Saranrom Park. London could learn a lot from Bangkok. Free, open-air gyms like this one were clearly well-used:
There was a fully equipped outdoor weights’ area, too. A running track round its circumference had a steady stream of walkers, plodders and runners and there were also activities for the more sedate:
And there was interesting wildlife (sorry, no bugs this time):
And here’s the “car park”:
On the way back into town, I stopped at a cashpoint as I was running low. What do you mean, transaction not authorised? Maybe it’s the machine. New machine, same message. Oh dear, oh dear. I started to work out whether I could survive on what I had left. Just, but I couldn’t actually do anything. Pants. Don’t panic, don’t panic, I thought. Perhaps it’s just coz you’re out of town and they’re not used to foreign cards.
“Where you from?”, Red Shirt asked. I’d arrived outside a temple.
“London*. Where you from?”
“Chiang Mai.” He proceeded to tell me about his holiday and warn me of pickpockets in the area. “It’s free after 6”, said White Shirt, coming to join us. I looked at my watch – it was 5pm. “That’s a long time to wait, I think I’ll just go in.”
“You see the big Buddha?” asked White Shirt.
“Wat Pho?”
“No Wat Pho,” he scoffed, “The Big Buddha. It is 45m high. I show you on map”. I handed it over and he drew a rectangle on it. “I take you there. Forty baht, and I bring you back here”. Right, so you’re offering to take me to an amazing temple that is not marked on any map, not mentioned in any guidebooks, happens to be open until 9pm (other temples seem to close to visitors at 6pm), is just out of town and you were able to pinpoint it without actually looking at my map? And despite the distance usually costing 150-200B, you’re offering to do it for 40B? What a lovely man… or an unscrupulous little sh*t. Despite a tendency (to a fault) of seeing the best in people, I concluded the latter and went into the temple. It later dawned on me that Red Shirt was similarly-intentioned but had been much more subtle – trying to build rapport and gain my trust, before suggesting something “not in my best interests”. I would never have got in a vehicle with either of them, but it shook me a little.
If Buddha was offended by my shoes and knees (no bags or skirts available), he didn’t show it. I’d like to think, however, that he liked the fact that in his temple I found very welcome respite to sit, think, cry, smile and wonder. How different this temple: the same ornate decoration, but peaceful. Only me, Buddha and a few natives. Oh, and quite a lot of monks about the place (no photo out of courtesy; I was fed up with being a tourist and felt the deal was two-way).
*It’s just easier – trying to explain more precisely is time-consuming and unnecessary. And I think I’m close enough to London to be fairly accurate. On a global scale, anyway.
Getting money was now top priority – if I couldn’t use my card I needed to think of Plan B fast. I had other options, of course, but they weren’t ideal.
Are you happy that we apply this grossly unfavourable exchange rate and also fleece you £3.92 for using this service?, the machine back in the tourist area asked.
Yes, very happy, very happy… JUST GIVE ME SOME MONEY!
It spewed out two high denomination bank notes (worth a grand total of about 40). I relaxed and went for another massage.
Later that evening I had to make a call to sort out some finances. I was worried – I’d received a text from Vodafone when I arrived in Bangkok saying, “Welcome to Thailand. As you’re in our Rest of World Zone it costs 80p/min to make a call and 75p/min to receive one.” It then detailed the text and data changes. But I thought I’d signed up to Vodafone World Traveller meaning I could pay 5GBP per 24-hour period to access my UK allowances. So why the text message? I was confused… and really concerned I’d return home to a huge bill. So I called Vodafone. It took a while – David confirmed I was signed up, but couldn’t confirm if/how I’d been billed the one time I’d used the service thus far. Eventually, he made a note on my account, then explained that I could use my UK allowance for 5GBP/day and recommended that I keep the text with the charges. “When you’ve run out of your allowance, these are the rates that you’ll be charged for making calls…”
“… err… I’m on an unlimited voice, text and data package.”
There was a pause. “You’ve just made my day,” he said.
Bangkok is as lush as Dubai was dry. That water is part of their way of life is no surprise. At the Damneok Saoeuk floating market, you can take a long boat down the watery streets where vendors tout their wares.
They use hooked poles to grab your boat as you sail past, but they’re not as insistent as those in Dubai, who border on aggressive: they present their wares and take “no thank you” for an answer (whoever came up with the phrase “take no for an answer” just wasn’t brought up proper, like what I was). Occasionally they stroke a mini guiro to attract your attention – it’s effective, polite and kind of relaxing all at the same time.
Like taxi drivers, it seems markets are the same the world over: a few different types of stall all selling the same thing. Most of it tat, but seemingly authentic tat. Great if that’s your thing, but I was content to go with the flow (well, I didn’t really have a choice being in a long boat without the paddle) and just enjoy being there.
Towards the end, we went round some of the more residential areas. Houses on stilts:
Raised “roads”:
A series of man-made canals supporting small communities:
Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating.
Further north is the “Death Railway”.
When allied forces prevented sea transportation between Thailand (then Siam) and Burma during the Second World War, the Japanese (who had relatively quickly and easily taken control of Siam) ordered a 250km railway to be built. It is estimated that 16,000 prisoners of war (POW) and 100,000 local Asians lost their lives during its construction (mostly due to disease, malnutrition and exhaustion). Hence its name. Three bridges were constructed across the River Kwai: two wooden, one iron. Apparently, POWs deliberately chose poor-quality, unseasoned wood to significantly reduce the structures’ lifespan (and one was clever enough to build eight radios that enabled them to keep up-to-date with the news).
The iron bridge was snaffled (not the official term) from Java and brought by barge to Kanchanaburi where POWs re-assembled it.
The associated “Gallery and War Museum” was eclectic, informative, fascinating… and empty (a phenomenon explained using a variation of Pareto’s 80/20 rule: 80% of people don’t venture more than 20 metres from the car park).
Some things were lost in translation:
And others required some imagination. For instance, who is this?
Go on, have a guess – the uniform surely gives it away 😉
Answer: Winston Churchill.
Somewhat inexplicably, the “Miss Thailand Directory” also occupied the building:
As well as the main title, there were (are?) prizes for “Miss Photogenic”, “Miss Beautiful Face”, “Miss Beautiful Hair” and “Miss Outstanding Swimsuit” (I reckon I could contend this last one as I have an extensive collection, some quite unique… as long as I don’t have to actually wear it).
Also in the building were fine examples of “The World’s Minerals” and a rather uninspiring exhibition celebrating the souls lost in a war with Burma during C18/19. I skipped the “Museum of Archaeology, Stamps, Money, Watches”, but felt I’d got my money’s worth (entrance fee: 71p).
Two other, random things now follow. The toilets were, um, not for the immobile:
And the ants were gigantic:
Back on the bus for the 2-hour return journey to Bangkok after a really, really enjoyable, informative and interesting (and, I have to mention, very slickly-organised) day 🙂
In my head, it’s still yesterday; a day is not over until I’ve slept.
Executive summary: I really like Bangkok.
Main report: This is a relief as I’d been a little concerned about personal security and avoiding the sex tourism. I needn’t have worried – it feels relatively safe and I think to partake in the latter you have to be a) looking for it and b) know what you’re looking for. Which I don’t. Perhaps it would be different if I was a man. But I’m not, so brain has moved on.
Getting the metro (85p) was easy and welcoming, but I had to wait ages for the bus to turn up to take me into the heart of the place. I was sat at the side of a slip road on to one side of a dual carriageway. Below are some photos of the vehicles that passed me. All were taken from the same position – can you spot the odd one out?
It would appear that direction of travel is merely a suggestion rather than a rule!
Glad I waited for the bus. Travelled with the locals into town (about 17p):
.. and then stopped at a street cafe for some food. Between serving, the waitresses prepared vegetables and fruit for the kitchen that was situated on the street (with the seating at the back).
My vegetable noodle soup was fresh, delicious, piping hot and cheap (89p).
The “house rules” of my hotel say more about the place than I ever could:
It might be the rebel in me, but I rather like the idea of being a “room pirate”. And I wondered if non-severe smoking was allowed (tee-hee!).
But the hotel is adequate for my needs and I have to admit that I feel more comfortable (psychologically-speaking!) here. I’m really glad I decided to stay in the backpacker area rather than in the (business-oriented) city centre: it’s alive and easy and fun.
Decided to plan my 3.5 days here: glad I did. Advice was that the floating market (about 90 mins from Bangkok) was best at the weekend, so I’ve booked a tour for tomorrow. Will visit the temples independently on Mon. Ok, so I only planned two days, but that’s an improvement, right?
Thai massage is world-renowned. It’s justified. In just 30 mins she kindly but firmly coaxed the stress out of me. And there were no signs of, er, “extra services” so I think there must be two kinds of establishment.
All the eateries I’ve seen have looked very good – I think you’d genuinely struggle to find a bad meal here. “Pad Thai” is a must-try. It was very good, but eclipsed by the “tom yam soup”. Even better, I am pleased to confirm that it was not dissimilar to my own (but I was taught by the best, CH 😉 ) but with more richness and depth of flavour. I’d like to think this is because of the ingredients, rather than the cook, though…
Every time we eat together, I ask CH to re-teach me to use chopsticks, which she kindly and patiently does only for me to fail miserably. Again. But something must have clicked because I swiftly polished off the Pad Thai with chopsticks. They really are the best tool for the job (except, obviously, soup) as you can easily pick specific bits out of the pile of nosh and the leftover grains of rice – try doing that with a fork!
Not for the first time, I arrived (an hour later) at my hotel dripping and tired. And again, they couldn’t have been nicer (but no upgrade – perhaps I should have mentioned my pants 😉 ).
