Intense City

How do you go about describing Bangkok? That's a question which has perplexed me for about three minutes, while I've sat having breakfast. OK, so, well, it's... Erm... Yeah, so, when you arrive here, Bangkok just starts happening to you and there's nothing you can do about it. Don't even try. Yeah, that's about right.

I arrived at around 8:30pm and after dropping my shizzle off at the hostel, went straight out to see what this great big fuss was all about. The moment I left the confines of the Sivarin Guest House (on Sam Sen Road - say it: Sam Sen, Sam Sen - makes you sound Thai if you affect a borderline racist accent. Not the eyes though, don't you dare do the eyes) a massive rat with visible balls bouncing off his hind legs came bursting out of a hole in the road. We caught each other's gaze for a beat and then he just carried on with his ratty business as though I was no more than an inconvenience. I always thought they were meant to scarper away in fear of reprisals for their dirty behaviour, but I've never seen a less intimidated creature. That set the tone for Bangkok nicely though because frankly, you came here and, as such, you've asked for it.

I headed for the Khao San Road - famous for its lurid bars and Leonardo Dicaprio - but there's plenty more on the way and seeing is the least of it as the streets offer up a full-on assault on your senses from the off. Actually, less an assault than an all-out serial killer investigation complete with leathery skin mask and balls tucked between the legs. The roads themselves are a mish-mash of cracked grey concrete, with wet stains licking down them and the sound of running water spilling everywhere, but it's the smells that will get your nostrils in a half nelson and laugh at your attempts to tap out.

Some of the smells are glorious and pungent in all the right ways: fresh lemon grass, lime leaves, curry pastes; but equally many made me do a bit of sick in my mouth. Pig's feet bubbling in a cauldron of fuck-knows-what, chicken that reached its sell-by date months ago and are now simply a vengeful skin of farty smells and rancid flesh. I was famished after the 16 hours of travel, but felt about the option of eating street food the same as I do about watching a terrifying horror movie - I know it can't kill me, but I'm shitting myself all the same.

I approached the road and there really was no mistaking it. Garish neon lights fused with excited chatter and relentless human advertisements. The energy of the place in undeniable - its freneticism and pace are dizzying and to make a decision on where to begin is an almost impossible task. 'You want girls?' 'Where you from?' 'You like lucky sucky? Ping pong?' All absolutely genuinely spat out at me as I lumbered down the street, fully aware I was too exhausted to be fully aware. As a brief aside, I spoke to some people at the hostel who told me they'd gone to a ping pong bar (if you don't know, you should, but if not - well, there's a naked woman on stage and no ping pong balls and then suddenly there are - get it?) and they said they had been given bats and that after the ping pong balls a live bird flew out! I can't think that that's hygienic. Also, what if you score a hole in one with the bats? Prizes? A goldfish in a bag? Does that then go in? The mind va-boggles.

Anyway, it was the sound of live music which eventually drew me into one bar and after ordering slowly and loudly, I took my bottle of Chang across to the balcony overlooking the madness. I knew it would be this way, it comes as no surprise, I said as much when I got to Canada years ago, but they're all so young. But more than that, they all seem pretty conceited. The thing that struck me was the utter disregard with which a lot of travellers seem to be treating the locals - as though they're their playthings, to be chastised and toyed with as they please. Walking down the road up to the bar, one kid pushes his face into a street vendor's, gurning then laughing at their surprised reaction. This earns them a high five from their buddy and they mooch on like the cat that got the cream. And then truculently poured it over grandma's face. Upon seeing this I made a decision - Bangkok is not for me. It may be a snap decision made in the first few heartbeats of my arrival, but that's that.

The place is a hysterical hive of activity, but you can't help feeling, with the Khao San bookended by McDonalds and Burger King, that this activity is the product of a Western demand and dominance. Everything's in English - the people shout recognisable phrases from TV shows: 'lovely jubbly!' 'Aaaaiiiight!' 'Am I bovvered?!' and I have one of my own - get me out of here. Some of the behaviour is just downright shameful and I'm embarrassed to be a part of it, but that's not to say I'm not gonna enjoy myself tonight. I drink lots and overcompensate for the rudeness I've seen with lots of apologetic bowing and smiling and trying to say thank you by repeating the only phrase I've learned (Sam Sen, Sam Sen - That'll have to do). I meet lots of people who assure me I'm in good hands now and Bangkok is our oyster, but by about 2am, after no sleep for 22 hours and an ideological smackdown going on brainside it's time to return to the guesthouse.

The next morning I spend an hour looking for the door keys in my room. I look everywhere; in every bag, under the bed, the outside 'balcony', but they're nowhere to be seen. Surrendering myself to the reality that they're lost and I'll have to pay for some more, I sheepishly arrive at reception to announce the bad news. As soon as I do though the lovely lady pulls them from the rack behind her. 'Where were they?' I ask.
'I found them this morning - in the bathroom bin.'
'Oh.' Whatthefuck?! I remember putting something in the bin the night before, but I was fairly sure that was a bottle lid. Well, anyway, I think the keys tell me something more about the way Bangkok has compromised itself for the sake of us all - it's just a bit rubbish.

Big ups to my man Roberto for being the first to comment on this new blog (same blog, different topic) and in answer to your question, I stick my pinky into their bums and the resulting taste I find fairly definitive. Off to Chaing Mai next, the second city, for trekking, long necks and elephants. Apparently they're evacuating parts of the city because of flooding. Knew I should've brought rubber ducky. Shalom.