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This is long overdue. I know. My spelling has not represented a promissing career teaching (English no less). I know. I'll try to do better this time.
Small, phonetic words Jordan.
Following the storybook/cinimatic weekend that was Kao Yai with a trip to Bangkok, to me at least, seemed a bit regressive. We had done the Bangkok thing, in my eyes that is. Why return to the "Big Mango?" (should be called the 'Big Durien,' for the musty, fecal aroma that occasionally assaults your notrals at random street turns) Well the answer to this question became clearer as the week progressed; that being, we all developed our own distinct reasons for wanting, nay, needing to venture to the capital.
Emma wanted to visit Steve. Amy wanted to go shopping. Kristin wanted to go clubbing (and judging from the Monday morning wallet wieghtlessness, shopping also). For me, the reson d'etre (not sure what that means, just read it in a book) came not from my consious self, but rather from my unconcious; namely, my tummy. Yes, my stomache was aching for some international filling. Tomato sauce. Falafel. Salsa. The sacred matrimony of cheese and burger. I could taste these delectables all week. Salivating in front of my class at the mere thought of Tahini drenched pita. Bassically, I had a serious craving for just about anything that wasn't stir fried and served over rice. A food tour was in order and the only place a hungry boy can fulfill his every culinary desire in Thailand is down in the dirty "Big Mango." (Note: Bangkok is good for quenching many, many other desires as well, but these were nothing compared to my despiration for a pub)
With each of our minds fixated on our weekend goals, we sat in the back of Pook's Van (Pook is our boss; She agreed to drive us down with her as she lives in the Greater Bangkok area). Some stroked their handbags thinking of the imminent shopping euphoria while I lay passed out in the back seat, visions of cheese sticks danced in my head. Sleeping on the way down did prove a bit costly, however. Apparently, Pook was asking my fellow teachers if any of them would be interested in teaching a Sunday English class at her Bangkok school (filling in for a missing teacher). Being fully concious of this quary, my colleagues humbaly and politely declined the offer, not wishing to part with precious weekend time. I on the other hand was somberly breaking from the grip of sweet Morphius when the question was posed to me. Ambiguesly, the question rattled in my head for a moment and before I had the chance to ponder the absurdity of auctioning off a valuable chunk of sleep time (Sunday mornings are worth their weight in gold when you wake at 5:30 every day) I found myself uttering a feeble, "sure, that sounds OK."
Fool! You just sold yor most precious comodity, sleep time and possible Saturday night drinking time Nevertheless, my boss was thrilled that I had agreed and I couldn't back down now. Plus, a little extra money never hurt anybody.
Bangkok isn't a city that jumps out at you the moment you encounter it. This is because it's so spread out and lacks a defined "downtown/big city skyline." Instead, Bangkok creeps up on you. Subtley. Slowly. Until you look around and
WHOMP! It's everywhere. The skytrain above. The antiquated canals below. The genuine, toothless smiles of street vendors camped just under the dubious grin of Colonel Sanders; and the thin vail of mist that hugs the ground at dusk. Exhaust fumes mared in the thick, humid air. The Big Mango indeed.
We were dropped off at the skytrain station and made our way past the various professional freaks that meander the labarynth of skytrain walkways almost methodically. Our destination was Soi 1 off the great Sukumviet Road, the city's main artery (if there is only one, which would be a tough case to make). The Soi 1 Sukumviet area was new territory for us. We had already done the whole, Kao San road thing and we wanted to explore another section of the vast, spread out metropolis.
We checked into the "Soi 1 Guest House." Reading the sign out front, I hoped they put to good use some of the time they had saved in choosing a name. Not so. It weren't the Hilton. For a nice rip off price of 350 Baht (per person!) we were lodged in a 6 person room. I shottied top bunk but regretted it sometime later when I was schooled in the good old laws of physics which have cold air from the aircon hover down by the bottom beds. Even thermodynamics was against me! No matter. My stomach informed me and the rest of the crew that we had some serious eating to do.
Thankfully, we didn't have to walk far before we came accross my first mecca, a small Itallian eatary nestled into a backally of Soi 1. It boasted a familiar menu of handmade pizzas and pastas which had become all too foreign to our hungry eyes. We were met at the door by the owner (name escapes me) a nice old Italian gent who claimed origin in Millan. He chatted us up for a few minutes and then he done brung over the biggest bottle o' red cabernet I done seen in a long time. With two liters of red gold at hand, the bottoms of our glasses never did get a breath of fresh air. I proceeded to order fresh tomato, mozzarella, and basil with yummy pesto bread. Olive oil is as precious an imported commodity as any in Thailand and we lapped it up generously. I move on to a big plate of homeade lasagna which, in writing this, I am replapsing into marinara-enduced ecstasy. Ok. Long story short. The meal was good. Damn good. Better yet, it was palatable refreshment. After the last bite of tramisu, billed as 'the best on Soi One', was polished off, we sat in our fullness and stared at an empty 2 liter bottle (which after two liters of wine can look like 3 empty 2 liter bottles). We paid the rather expensive bill (all that imported food weren't cheap) and we rolled on outta there.
From Soi 1 we meandered the back streets of Sukumviet in search of a night club to fullfill the dancing urge Kristin had been incubating in Ayutthaya. We came accross a posh looking joint called 'Club Q.' Lo to my "regret" they wouldnt let me in because I was wearing sandles. "Shuks." I almost got away club free that night but the darned bouncer informed the back of my head as I strolled away that I could purchase some black socks at the nearby 7/11 and be let into their fine establishment. "And the night was saved." There is one picture of me wearing the rediculous uniform required of me to fullfill Kristin's dancing wishes. No, you will not see it. Nor should anyone ever have to. I looked quite rediculous with my "Big Summer Classic 2005 tour" t-shirt, camo-shorts, brown merrel sandles and hight black silk socks.
Despite the ludicrous fashion look I sported, they let me in for a minor fortune (which included two drinks) and I watched the Bangkok night club scene up close in person. It was actually a lot like the NY clubs i frequently visit. The weirdest thing, which is endemic throughout Thailand, is how many old, male westerners there are, seemingly shopping for young Thai girls who practically carpet the floor waiting to be picked up. I didn't venture into the bathroom, but if I had, I reckon I'd have laid eyes on my first 25 cent viagra machine. Anyway, we kept mostly to our own group. It was a seriously sleezy scene which Emma rightly compared to a cattle market of women. Looking at the faces of the girls, they didn't seem to mind the setup and seemed to actually be having a good time.
We stayed for our two drinks and left shortly after the ice had fully melted in the second. I think Kristin was a little disillusioned with the club scene after that. We got back to our crowded room and decided that we would head to good ol' Kaosan road on the morrow. For one it was much cheaper. Also, we had wanted to escape from Kaosan's reputation as a fantasy oasis. A tourist spot, past its prime (the Kaosan road , for those who don't know, is/was/has been a backpacker utopia. It's a hybrid of East meets West. A slice of the East Village with a China Town twist. It's mostly famous now for being overly famous and essentially played out. If you go there today, it's like showing up un-fasionably late to a once exclusive party). We had steared clear of it in hopes of finding what the 'real' Big Mango had to offer, but once we saw it we realized that the reality was less enchanting than the fantasy.
The next morning we arrived back on the Kaosan road and checked into our favorite little hostal, Donna's House. It's just off the main strip so it's relatively quiet and secure there, plus the folks who run it are really friendly and speak decent English (enough to give you toilet paper when you run out).
We dropped our backpacks off in the room and I led the group on a minor expedition for good Israeli falafal shop I'd heard about, hidden just off the Kaosan drag. After some tracking and backtracking we came upon "Shoshana's" and notched another hole in my eating tour belt (which was starting to get bigger if you know what I mean).
We next met up with Steven, our Bangkok placed teaching compadre. We jumped in a Tuk-Tuk and chugged on down to the famed Weekend Market. Now, I could probably write an entire blog describing this market. The market is carved out of the north western part of Bangkok and could easily be its own city. Heck, it could be an independent state with a UN seat and everything! When you get to this market, they give you a map. That's when you know your in for more than just a routine shopping experience. I guess there were some sections of the market that were designated for specific shops. There may have been a housewares area, possibly a clothing area, a shoe 'world' if you will. But It didn't seem like the designations held up. One minute you could be marveling at some rare antiques in one shop and then look to the next shop and wandered into your first ever all plastic fruit and flower shop (before later walking into your second, third and fourth such shop).
Upon entering the market I had seen Kristin's eyes light up as we approached the first of the twelve thousand shoe outlets that were there. After about 2 minutes of wandering together, we decided it best to split up and meet at the giant clock tower which towered in the middle of the consumer paradise. So it came that Kristin and Emma would gather shoes, sandles and earings, whilest Steven and I would hunt for t-shirts, weapons and, if rumors held truth, illegal pet mokeys, which I promised Kristin I would purchase if the opportunity presented itself.
For me and Steven the market experience generally went something like this: We shuffled along through the narrow passages and tunnels connecting the shops; our mouthes gaped wide in awe, and our heads turning rhythmically back and forth in amazement at the sheer volume and diversity of goods being vended around us. Occasionally, something shiny would catch our eye and we would deviate from the pathway and into a shop. Steve got a new shoulder bag for school, I baught some pants and tried on about 50 t-shirts (none of which fit quite right). We both purchased a fair amount of insense on the cheap and I even got a nice "Italian Leather" belt. Bargaining was the most fun part of the shopping by far. Nothing but nothing excites a Thai merchant at the weekend market like a wide-eyed, drooling Farang with a big lump in his back pocket. I must have looking like an injured fawn sweating gravy to those wolves. We soon learned that wherever they start you out on the negotiation table you must quickly laugh off with a counter offer of about a tenth. If they don't throw you right out of the shop, you generally haggle for a bit until you get a pretty fair deal, although speaking Thai would probably be a huge advantage in this game.
To my delight we came accross the Pet section of the Market fairly quickly. There were dogs of every breed. Tiny little puppies that couldn't have been more than a week old. There were kittens, snakes, turtles, fish, baby rabbits, and even a number of little baby squirrels with tiny little bonnets attatched to their heads. Looking back on it, we could just have easily been in the fresh meat section. haha (had to get that in there). 'Nyways, I searched high and low, calling out, "ling, ling?" to every suspicious looking person I saw (ling = monkey in thai). No takers though. Lucky for Kristin. After two hours, or twelve depending on how you keep track of those things, Steve and I gave eachother the look of "this is getting to be too much" and we made our way to the clock tower to meet the girls.
After some, "check out what I got"s, and some, "do you like this outfit"s muddled with some, "these earings go great with this, and they were only 3 for 100 baht"s, we hailed another tuk-tuk and fled the scene just before the rain started.
To wrap this up so I can get on with my life, and dinner more immediately, we went to a hip little jazz bar that night. It was pretty full of Farang. We met some nice (and damn hot) Dutch girls (yes mom, I asked if they spoke Hollish). I went to bed semi-early to prepare myself for teaching on Sunday morning. And that was Bangkok take two. Teaching the next day was super easy. I played games with the 4 students for about 2 hours and made a cool 800 baht. That covered some of the weekend's extravegance.
No pictures from the weekend unfortunately. Do come back next week as I recount the tale of "Hau Hin and the Jazz festival".
Off to eats...
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Aunt Ruth
non-member comment
hmmmm-mmmm good
Go get 'em nephew! But where are the pix. Still have your camera? Life there is much more exciting than here - except all the hot movies coming out like the latest "Pirates..." and next week the Die Hard 36459. Keep up the good work- stay away from the south. Auntie r