Bangkok 2012 - Part 3

The place we chose for that well-earned beer is like so many others in South-East Asia — an opportunity, grasped with both hands, and made to work hard. The opportunist is the owner of a small travel agency, restaurant, and footpath bar. His opportunity was to convert unused first floor space into ‘hotel rooms’ (this term is interchangeable with ‘rat infested fire trap’) for weary travellers. The space is divided into as many small rooms as possible to maximise his return on investment. The effect is akin to the inside of a hair dryer with a broken fan - dark, hot, & potentially dangerous.

My travelling companion — much more used to the privations of cheap travel than I — allowed me the one small comfort available from the two rooms we are proffered: a window. I thanked him then, but was later to regret the decision. I showered in one of the two available bathrooms. These modern facilities have all a weary traveller could wish for: a door, barely strong enough to keep out a rampaging mosquito, a toilet with a broken seat and no cistern, a large bucket (this of course you fill with water to ‘flush’ the toilet), and a shower. And when I say ‘shower’ what I really mean is a tap on the wall at knee height, with half a meter of grungy plastic hose attached. All of this is contained in a space barely bigger than a normal toilet cubicle, come to think of it; this is a toilet cubicle – with a bucket and a tap!

Showered, I made my way back to my box with a window (room) for a short rest. Besides the window that contributes no more to the room than a little grime tinged light, the only other comfort is a fan. Unfortunately, this is not the normal three bladed ceiling fan, but a desk fan, bolted to the ceiling. The switch on the wall allows speed changes, but no control over the oscillation. So as I laid on my bed feeling the sweat from my back slowly soak into the tissue-thin yellowed sheets, I time the fan’s rotation: twenty seconds, seven on me. The thirteen wasted seconds it is not blowing on me is enough time to become completely drenched. It is so hot my shins sweat. I’m not sure I can put up with this for three days.

‘Rested’, we hit the streets to see what Bangkok has in store. Remembering that we are on holiday, a late morning beer is in order. We plonked ourselves down at the footpath bar and ordered a couple of Singhas. Chatting to the owner and his less than coy friend, we find out that he has as many business pies across Asia as he has fingers to put in them.

My travelling companion lives in India for nine months of every year, and is therefore very accustomed to the delights of that foreign cuisine. Having visited Bangkok once previously, he is aware of, and more than a little keen to sample as many Thai culinary delights as possible in our short time in the Big Mango. His aim is six small meals a day, and with two in the bank by 11 am, he is well on his way to fulfilling that goal.

Watered; time for a feed. You would have to be blind, deaf and suffer from anosmia to go hungry in this town; there is food everywhere, and it arrives via many forms of transport. From people carrying baskets, pushing carts, from bicycles to the back of motorbikes, temporary stalls on footpaths and restaurants in buildings, there is every type of nibble, snack and meal to tempt all but the most fussy. We settle for a small footpath stall and a bowl of spicy meaty soup. It is so good, my companion has two.

To be continued...