I was not looking forward to spending time in Bangkok in September. I expected it to be even more hot and humid than North Carolina (it was), and I had already seen the major sights. And now I had three extra days there. When I finally arrived around 8 p.m. at night, the terminal was virtually deserted. The immigration officer at first refused to believe that I had arrived on flight CX2700 from Karachi, since it was 14 hours late, it was not on her monitors.
Finally allowed in, I took a taxi to the hotel recommended by Alan, from the tour group. Indicative of the trouble in the tourist industry, the hotel's rates had been cut in half the second time I checked its web site. I got an "executive suite" for 1300 baht a night (44 baht to the dollar) -- two TVs, a mini-bar, and plenty of room to spread out. I had thought Alan was in Singapore, but ran into him at reception. After Tio Pepe and river prawns with kaffir lime leaves for dinner, I decided that Bangkok was not all bad.
I slept late, and then took a canal boat and tuk-tuk to Wat Pho. I revisited the Reclining Buddha, still surrounded by scaffolding and restorers, before heading for the back of the complex and a traditional Thai massage. At Wat Pho's massage school an hour costs only 250 baht -- cheaper than the massage parlors, and unquestionably legitimate. At the extreme east end of the compound were two open-ended buildings with low platforms running both sides of the aisle: two mattress pads on one side and three on the other. The masseuses, male and female, wore yellow shirts and black pants. I had to wait 40 minutes, but it was worth it. Mostly the masseur used fingers and thumbs plus body weight on pressure points, sometimes he used legs or elbows as well. A series of regular visits, and I might actually manage a full lotus position. At the end he bent me backwards like a bow -- fortunately nothing snapped.
My timing was good -- a cultural festival was in progress at the Wat, which stayed open an extra three hours. The courtyards were filled with puppets, music and dance shows, and displays of traditional crafts. The street outside the Wat was lined with food stalls.
I left shortly ahead of a rainstorm and took a tuk-tuk to Siam Square, a major shopping center. Heading into the nearest mall (over a huge McDonald's) I found myself facing Boots (the British chemists - drug store for the Americans) which provided my favorite brand of hand lotion, dental floss and chap stick. I dined on pizza and beer, and for the first time I can remember had a tip refused (I knew enough not to offer in China).
The next day, Alan and I took a day trip to Ayuthaya, the capital of Thailand until it was sacked by the Burmese and replaced by Bangkok. It was very like Si Satchanalai, an even older capital -- ruined brick walls and stupas, with yellow-draped Buddhas, surrounded by grass and shadeless under a baking sun. The summer palace complex, also on the tour, was a strange collection of buildings -- Thai, Chinese and European (think Louis XIV). The trip back to Bangkok by boat was the highlight of the day, taking in most of Bangkok with views of the Royal Palace and the Temple of Dawn. Unfortunately, the lightweight umbrella I was using as a sunshade wasn't up to the breeze, and a critical component broke -- but I found a replacement at Bangkok's World Trade Center, a glitzy shopping center.
I also checked out the Sky Train -- an elevated metro system. It was relatively expensive, at least twice the canal boats, but clean, quiet, fast and easy to navigate. The highlight of my stay in Bangkok, though, was the Amari Airport Hotel, where I spent the last night. An unexpected upgrade to the executive floor (no doubt courtesy of the slump in the tourist trade) wrapped me in luxury. A big balcony, a couch and coffee table with fruit and candies, an angled desk (great for solitaire), a king-size bed with a Japanese-style alcove holding a statue, a carpeted dressing area with floor-length mirror and a marble-tiled bathroom with separate tub and glassed-in shower -- it seemed a waste to go out. I did head downstairs for a haircut -- 400 baht for a not very expert cut and 300 for a shampoo that was really a scalp massage -- and downtown to the Jim Thompson museum. Thompson, an American who revived the Thai silk trade after World War II, moved six teak houses to Bangkok to form his home. After his still-unexplained disappearance in Malaysia's Cameron Highlands they became a museum that holds his collection of Asian art. While much better than the dusty National Museum, it's not an absolute must-see.
The food at the Amari was nearly as memorable as the room. I passed up the Thai dinner buffet in favor of diced chicken in crispy baskets, duck in red curry sauce and mildly-spiced veggies along with the first decent wine in weeks. After cappuccino and Cointreau the rest cure was complete. As I wheeled my luggage across the air-conditioned bridge to the international terminal the next morning I felt that the extravagance (one night at the Amari cost noticeably more than three at the Classic Place) was worth it.
Originally sent from Darjeeling, India, Oct. 11, about Bangkok, Sept. 22 - 26
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