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Published: February 4th 2007
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The simplest and quickest - though by no means the cheapest - way of getting from Kanchanaburi to Ayutthaya was by minibus so, as I hadn't yet summoned up the enthusiasm for any more exotic modes of transport, Saturday afternoon saw me sitting semi-comfortably in the back of a minibus with 2 Swiss girls, an Australian couple, and a steelworker from Southbank who I subsequently spent a couple of evenings drinking with.
It was clearly the height of peak season in Ayutthaya, a fact I soon realised as I trudged from one guesthouse to the next, being told at every turn that they were full. I tried every place in the main backpacker area, with my trawl producing one room. I doubt I'll stay anywhere more basic in Thailand. Two beds (bottom sheet and pillow only), a fan, a light, and a wastepaper basket were the minimalist contents. No power point, no other bedclothes, no other furniture, shared cold shower, and shared toilet (outside of which slept a cat that miaowed constantly if you approached the loo). All for B150 (= ~$4).
My first evening in Ayutthaya involved a few beers, several FA Cup games (featuring a couple of
on-screen geckos), a Dutch guy, a French guy, an English guy, a couple from Marseilles who knew of Chris Waddle's sausage-making past, the Thai equivalent of a lock-in, and a non-appearance in the land of the living the following day until 2:30PM.
It was immediately obvious that Ayutthaya was cooler (temperature rather than hipness) than Kanchanaburi. Previous nights had been spent clad only in my undies. Ayutthaya nights involved 2 T-shirts, a fleece, long trousers, thick hiking socks, and the occasional shiver nonetheless. If this was the price to be paid for days that were pleasantly warm rather than oppressively hot, I was happy to do so. Further nocturnal entertainment came from late-partying backpackers, barking dogs, a prematurely crowing cockerel, and the dawn chorus.
Ayutthaya was Thailand's capital for 300 years before being sacked by the Burmese (and Bangkok subsequently taking that honour). At its peak at the end of the 17th century, it had double the population of London. Its ruins are a stark contrast to the rainbow of colours visible in Bangkok's main temples - only grey stone and red brick remain, with occasional surfaces of white stucco that escaped the attentions of the Burmese. Headless
Wat Phra Mahathat
Buddha head grasped by a bodhi tree Buddhas abound, making focal points of the few remaining intact ones (though Wat Matathat features the arresting combination of a Buddha's head caught up in the snaking roots of a bodhi tree). The main sights - judging by tour group and postcard vendor density - are Viharn Phra Mongkol Bopit (built in 1956, which explains its bright colours, to house a large bronze Buddha that had been sitting in the open since the Burmese sacking) and Wat Phra Si Samphet (3 grey chedis that are the only major remnants of what had been an enormous royal enclosure).
North of the river sits Wat Na Phra Mane, a still-functioning temple that was taking in an enormous consignment of eggs when I visited - as this was an unlikely venue for the World Omelette-making Championships, I can only assume they were there as an offering or a merit-accruing exercise. On my way to the temple I was set upon by a gang of dogs who got sufficiently close, and were looking sufficiently unfriendly, that I had to resort to threatening them with stones, much to the amusement of a couple of other tourists who had passed that way unmolested.
A
final Ayutthaya incidentette was that the Post Office had a numbered queuing system, the surprising presence of which put a look of such cluelessness on my face that half the waiting customers volunteered to explain it to me. The orderliness here is exceeding all my expectations by an embarrassingly high factor.
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