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Published: November 9th 2009
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I'm sitting on a street corner at a sidewalk cafe in the Banglamphu area of Bangkok. Fruit stands and cafes line both sides of the road. The fruit vendors carts are stacked with mangos, bananas, dragonfruit, passion fruit and papaya. The stalls stay busy all afternoon and see a steady stream of farangs as well as Thais.
Coolers packed with ice hold bottled water, fresh coconuts and fruit juice. The menus are hand made, written in English and complemented by pictures. The street is lined with trees and paved with red tiles. Tuk-tuks, pigeons and flies breeze through on the regular.
An older American woman next to me tells her husband to get his camera ready or he will miss it - "It" being life that is happening every moment. A gay farang walks by with his Asian friend and says he will get packed and then "chillax".
I think the old folks next to me are new to Bangkok. The man has a walker and the woman is eavesdropping on my journal. They are now taking photos of the waitress who thanks them for the complement.
The tables of the cafes are made of red and
blue metal tubing. Some are wooden. The chairs on the other side of the road are pink and blue plastic stools. On my side of the street they serve beer and have white plastic chairs with backs, inviting one to stay for awhile. Some Aussies behind me are already about six big beers down. It's two in the afternoon.
The cross section of people here is pretty amazing - A man with knee-length dreadlocks and medical scrubs, a street vendor selling hand fans, a table full of Asian students watching everything - just like me. A motorized cart drives by playing Thai music and selling snacks, water and soda. A stray dog wanders back and forth, itching itself and biting at its tail. Scooters drive through with the occasional taxi, pushing pedestrians to the side of the road.
Two pigeons perch on the wires draped across the road which sag from the weight of the encroaching branches. A Thai girl in high heels skips by with a huge smile on her face, greeting some farangs at the table next to me who are discussing futbol.
It looks like it might rain. A man pushes a soup cart
by. Men with handcarts stacked with empty bottles cross in the other direction. One has a large wicker basket piled high with black trash bags. The sound of sizzling woks and shuffling sandals can be heard among a mix of different dialects. A motor enters the mix and soon disappears.
Two old hippies dressed in tye-dye shirts, crocs and pajama pants share an animated conversation. Backpackers walk by with shopping bags on each arm - their packs flaunting patches from around the globe.
Travelers fresh off the beach walk by wearing inappropriate but somehow tolerated attire. A woman across the street shouts "Hello!" as she tries to find the owner of a hot plate of noodles. A table of Thai's and one old farang share plastic bags of fruit and fresh OJ. A woman with a child strapped to her back attempts to negotiate a tuk-tuk....no luck....
Vendors are pulling out the umbrellas as the welcome breeze blows leaves off the trees. The song of a bird is echoed by faint chirps and barking dogs. A couple tourists walk by with their money belts on the outside of their clothes - asking to be ripped off. The
fruit shake man takes a break to eat - ready and willing to drop it all and serve his next customer.
My new neighbors are ordering Tom Yum soup and trying to decide if they want it spicy or not. It sounds like they do and I think they are in for a surprise. The waitress laughs at them.
The occasional farang walks by with bandaged appendages - most likely from a failed scooter ride or a drunken tubing expedition in Vang Vieng. A sign next to me advertises "Toast - Butte - Jam."
A woman of about thirty-five walks by with her three year old boy and his patchwork pants. They take a table with a big white guy with a bald head and a jersey which reveals sleeves of tattoos from neck to ankle. It looks like he may have served some time but the tattoos are well designed and nicely colored - obviously professional work. He's having a coke in a can.
"Mr. Thailand" has pulled up in his bicycle rickshaw blasting "Red- Red Wine" from his stereo system and sporting his dashiki with big white sunglasses. He stops to wave to the
young boy, who is obviously entertained, before checking out the dragonfruit on the corner.
You can tell a lot about people by the way they walk down the street. The vendors walk with an ever-watchful eye - aware of everyone, sorting out the possibilities. Most locals walk by confident, aware, unamused. Many of the tourists walk around in a hurry - maybe accustomed to the pace of life at home, maybe to avoid being hassled by another tuk-tuk driver or street hustler.
Some walk slowly, taking it all in. Some walk by clutching their belongings, looking for who might be out to rob them.
It looks like the first of the "frog-ladies" are out. They are from (or are st least dressed like those from) hill tribe villages. They walk around with wooden frogs and pistels, carrying identical baskets of bracelets, trinkets and hats. They rub the pistel over the bumps on the frogs to create a croaking noise to attract the attention of unsuspecting tourists. While the noise adds a certain ambiance to the evenings, they roam the streets in droves, stopping at every table, interrupting conversation - shameless and hopeful. I have yet to see anyone patronize them.
The rain has now started and the umbrellas have come up. A woman sweeps leaves and cigarette butts from the street with a wicker broom. The streets clear for a moment, the rain passes and life continues. Just as soon as it passed, however, it comes back stronger than before, the streets clear once again and most people run for cover. A Thai man pedaling a three wheeled cart keeps on unaffected, realizing that soon enough this too will pass.
Two women haul bags of trash around the corner in the rain as an old Thai lady laughs at them - her grin missing most of her upper fronts. She smiles at me and I laugh along. The fruit man takes the opportunity to have a shake and chat with his friends as they watch the rain. He checks his tarps for leaks.
The rain pounds down and visquine drops down to protect the fruit carts. The street signs are taken in and everyone looks on. I move inside but the rood leaks too much to continue writing. Time to move on....
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