He wasn’t sure what caused him to look up. A noise perhaps. A light. It wasn’t the evening symphony of cicadas. Or the regular chorus of the boats coming into, and out of, the nearby jetty. “Oriental pier…Oriental pier. This stop, Oriental pier”. He had become immune to these noises by now. As unobtrusive as having The Archers on the radio in the background. No, this was something different.
He screwed the lid of his pen back on, and gently laid it down on the desk. He walked slowly, barefoot, on to the balcony. There was the unmistakable whiff of citronella in the still night air. A smell as associated with Thailand as lemongrass. The citronella being part of the futile attempt to ward off the army of mosquitoes that descend when the sun goes down. He looked out across the Chao Phraya river. Watched the boats put putting up and down. It was too dark to see, but he knew from the smell that they were pumping out diesel fumes.
This is how I imagined Graham Greene, or maybe Somerset Maugham would spend their evenings, on the deck of the Mandarin Oriental. Midway through their latest creation. Using the solitude to help shape their stories. A haven of calm, in the fast and frenetic city of Bangkok, The Mandarin Oriental has long since had an association with writers, even having its own “Authors Wing”. Since 1876, the hotel has graced the shores of the dark brown river that snakes through Bangkok, the Chao Phraya.
I was last in Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, in 1999, some 5 years after my first ever visit. With each visit the city skyline gets ever more dramatic. The hotels vie for the title of the highest, and most vertiginous rooftop bar. We had cocktails at the aptly named Vertigo, at the Banyan Tree hotel. 61 floors up, and totally exposed to the outside world, Vertigo claims a place amongst the highest outdoor bars in the world. I had to remain firmly seated, and only tentatively glance over the edge. The edge that was only protected by a waist-high barrier. You know that feeling when you are at the edge of something very high, such as on top of a 61 floor hotel, or in a hot air balloon over the vineyards of the Hunter Valley, when, inextricably, your only thought is throwing yourself over the edge? Yeah, I was getting these thoughts again. That I was sat on flight QF23, 21.10 from Singapore to Sydney, at the time of writing is proof that I resisted this self-destructive urge. And also proof that we survived a tuk tuk ride through the scary Bangkok traffic. Going at breakneck speed, for a tuk tuk, we had to ensure we made our dinner reservation at the excellent Scarlett Restaurant (where I had the BEST. APPLE. PIE. EVER), in the Hotel Pullman G. For the uninitiated, a tuk tuk is a converted scooter, with a seat behind the driver, that zips in and out of traffic. The most fun you can have for a few dollars.
Bangkok is a very large, sprawling city, dissected by the Chao Phraya river. The very brown, and very murky looking river that carries locals and tourists up and down its length all day long. Serviced by a number of boats, with their distinctive ragged flags flying behind them in the wind, denoting which boat service is which. A flash of blue, or orange catches the eye as they go past. And then there is the “tourist boat”, of the hop-on, hop-off variety, easily identified by having no locals aboard. Just a mix of holiday makers and travellers. Themselves easily identified by what they carry and wear. Those with money had their big cameras. Those without, in their “Beer Chang” vests, recently bought close by on Khao San Road. A long time favourite haunt of backpackers.
The boats are the easiest, and most convenient way to get to all the must see sights in Bangkok. Jumping on and off the boats, at the pier that is closest to where you need to be, a day is easily filled with visits to places such as The Grand Temple and Wat Arun. Across the water to Wat Pho, a cheap 4 baht (17 cents) ferry, with hordes of overheating tourists, the Reclining Buddha has to be seen to be believed. 15 metres high, and 46 metres long, it is one of the largest Buddha statues in Thailand.
Back on the river, waiting for the next boat, watching the pigeons perched atop the piers. Piers that creak and crack in the water like the legs of an old man getting out of bed in the morning. The detritus of this mornings flower market, that started at 2am, swirling around, back and forth in the foamy wash from the boats. Large fish, dancing in the water, putting on a show for the tourists who delight in throwing them bread.
A sensory overload, Bangkok continually assaults all of them. At times all at once. The smells are unavoidable. And can be ranked in the order that you would prefer to have to endure them. All you can hope for is to have a day when you get more of the sizzling satays from the street stalls, than the fetid fish laid out to dry in the oppressive Bangkok sun. When it is not food, it is the pungent cigarettes everyone in Asia seems to smoke. Even that is better than the ineffectual drains that cause you to get a very unpleasant whiff of the sewerage from deep below you as you negotiate the crowded sidewalks. Such as the sidewalks in Chinatown that are barely wide enough for pedestrians, let alone the many stalls crowded onto every available inch of pathway, causing unending bottlenecks with the continuous foot traffic. On the street, with the hundreds of scooters and tuk tuks, your ears are continually besieged with a constant cacophony of honking horns. And on the river, with boats of all shapes and sizes, you can’t escape the smell of petrol and diesel. It permeates everything, and clings to you until you wash it all away with your evening shower.
Walking is something you will do a lot of in Bangkok. We were walking off a lunch we had just eaten at a restaurant in Chinatown. Not really sure what we were getting, but deducing from the pictures we pointed to that we were getting the best of what liked a very dodgy offering. That definitely looks like rice. And that looked like duck. I wasn’t sure what was covering the duck, but hey, I was hungry.
As we walked, the afternoon heat dissipated slowly. The sun was long since gone, now hidden behind a curtain of clouds. This gives Bangkok the colour that paints the city in the late afternoon. Between the bright morning sun, and the neon lit nights, everything turns a dull beige. Like a thin blanket that mutes everything. Making all your photographs look aged. Slightly sepia tinged.
Sights having been seen, we made our way to the Skytrain. Another development since my last visit. Rising above the clogged city traffic, like the monorail of my childhood at Butlins theme parks, the Skytrain is the easiest way of crossing the vast expanse of the city. There is even a link to the airport, if your budget won’t stretch to a taxi. Several lines intersect, and like an above ground London tube, you just need to work out where to change stations. Having a station at the end of the road where we were staying was very convenient. I said it earlier, but it is worth emphasising, Bangkok is a big city. And it takes time to get anywhere across city. But when you do, it is worth it.
Making the trip home on the Skytrain, and taking a slight detour on foot back to the hotel, we innocuously found ourselves on a street that, at first, looked like a row of restaurants and bars. Upon closer inspection there are few restaurants. There are no bars. What there is are many massage parlours. Walking past a few of them, (well, it was on the WAY home, don’t judge me) what I could see through the window was lines of girls parading before a prospective customer. I suspected exactly what kind of massage was on offer. The last time I had a massage the masseuse wasn’t in her best underwear and 8 inch heels. Honest.
At night Bangkok feels a different place again. Transformed. Leaving behind the chaos of the daytime. When the sun goes down, the chilled music starts. And the rooftop bars open. Sat up there, feeling as high as the planes in the sky, you look across the city, and it is as though there is a sea of red lights dancing. The top of every building appears to be blinking red, warning anybody that flies too close, that a city lies below. A city waking from the slumber of the late afternoon, ready to party long into the night. Happy hours everywhere offering great deals on cocktails and beer. A few pina coladas in and you feel like everything has slowed down, and the pace of life is exactly where you want it to be.
Bangkok is a great city. The only disappointment was that we didn’t have longer. But now it was time to slow things down. It was time for the island of Koh Phangan. First we had to get to the airport in Bangkok. Alive. Our taxi driver had either a personal best to achieve, or the hotel had told him we were in a rush. I suspected the latter, even though we had plenty of time. The supposed 45 minute journey was done in little over 30 minutes. Most of it with my heart in my mouth. Sat in the back, with no seatbelt fitted on my side of the car, we lane swapped at great speed. We tailgated in a way that I have only ever seen in Formula 1. And all this whilst the roads seemed to be patrolled by lots of police.
Arriving with very sweaty palms, and shaking legs, I have never been so happy to see an airport terminal. And the bar!
