Bangkok, Thailand - Temples, Markets and Red Lights

“Please not ride in tuk-tuk,” said the man who'd met us at the airport. “Over sixty accidents every day in Bangkok involving tuk-tuk. You are advised to take taxi, much safer.” Our hotel, the Holiday Inn on Silom Road was only a ten-minute walk from the notorious Patpong red light district. “Do you fancy having a wander?” I asked Angela. “To see the night market…of course.”

An August night in Bangkok equals hot and humid weather. As we headed towards Patpong we hit the beginnings of the night market. DVDs and wooden trinkets seemed the main item on offer. Some of the buildings we passed offered massages. Outside these premises sat young girls looking faintly bored. But these were not the seedy establishments of downtown Patpong; these were the real deal, offering traditional Thai massages.

The closer we got to Patpong, the thicker the crowds got. The narrow isles between the stalls were getting clogged. “You want ping pong?” asked a man who approached from my left flank. “Good show!”

“No thanks,” I answered; besides, I'd forgotten my table tennis bat. The man disappeared from whence he came but further along a man sidled up to me proffering a menu. The heading read: Sex Show. What the various listings described I had no idea. A polite no thanks, and he was off.

“Do you know?” I said to Angela as we turned onto Patpong Street itself. “Even if I was with a bunch of mates I wouldn't go and see a ping pong show. I just can't see the appeal. It sounds horrible.”

Patpong wasn't actually as sordid as we’d imagined it to be. Yes there were the girly bars with gyrating young women just visible through the entrances, but the place certainly wasn't running amok with middle aged westerners with their arms wrapped around young girls. No, Patpong was evidently a tourist attraction, rather like Amsterdam's Red Light District. As we wandered past bars with names such as Honey Club or Electric Blue, we spotted children strolling about with their parents. Patpong was clearly the place to be when night fell.

On the way back to our hotel, Angela decided to have an authentic Thai massage in one of the places we'd passed earlier. After perusing the menu, she decided to go for a foot massage. She turned to me as we entered. “Why don't you have a massage? You'll be bored watching me for an hour.” I reluctantly nodded and looked at the menu. Perhaps I would. I didn't really fancy a massage as such though, but I soon spotted something that might do the trick.

While Angela's masseur got started with her feet, I was led to a nearby chair. After sitting me down, the young Thai girl reclined my seat and told me to relax. I closed my eyes as the woman covered my face with some sort of liquid. I then heard her tinkering with something on a nearby table. I pressed my eyes tighter as I felt the cold edge of the blade press against my skin.

Twenty minutes later, I had to admit that it was the closest shave I'd ever had. My face hadn't felt as smooth since I was thirteen. Thanking the girl, I went to sit by Angela, who was only half way through her massage. I glanced back over at my shaver; she was busy cleaning the razor, allowing the blood drip off before the next customer arrived.

The next day, after managing to sleep off most of our jet lag, Angela and I headed to Chatuchak Weekend Market, a huge array of over 9000 stalls. Braving the sweltering sun, we caught the Skytrain, passing over the smog and gridlock of the roads below.

The market was huge labyrinth of alleyways, crisscrossing each other in people-jammed junctions. The main isles were in the open air, but the rabbit-warren side alleys were much more numerous. The heat was intense as was the smell. We headed into the throng, sweat pouring from every pore.

Clothes stalls seemed endless to me but eventually we came to a section selling art. Some of the pieces on offer seemed genuinely good. Many of the stalls offered work from a single artist, and this section of Chatuchak Market resembled small scale art gallery. We moved on to the pet stalls. Cute puppies were either locked up in cages or else were on display inside large boxes. People stopped to stroke the most adorable ones, and this led us to speculate on the shelf life of a cute puppy, and what happened to them after they had outgrown their sell-by date.

After the sweat box of Chatuchak, we headed west by taxi towards the River Chao Phraya to visit the splendour of the Grand Palace, previous abode of the King of Thailand. Dazzling colours greeted our gaze. Reds, whites, greens but especially golds, glittered in the sunlight. “This looks incredible,” said Angela as we wandered through a temple containing the famous Emerald Buddha, one of the most sacred things in Thailand.

“It's a bit small,” said Angela. Placed high on a plinth stood the green Buddha. It was small. And green. And there was a man shouting at Angela to take her hat off. We wandered around before heading back out to collect our footwear.

“Look!” said Angela, pointing off to my right. I turned in time to see a trio of orange-robed Buddhist monks descending some temple steps. “Quick, get a picture!” Fumbling for the camera, I managed to snap off a shot before being slightly dismayed to see one of them produced a mobile phone. Monks with mobile phones? Somehow it didn’t seen quite right.

We decided to catch a ferry boat back to our hotel. As we waited, we saw a young woman stroll over to a fence where she started tossing chunks of bread into the river. As we approached we could see the water churning with fish. They were big ones too, writhing around with their gaping mouths flapping to get hold of a chunk of bread.

Our boat arrived but it was already full. “Come!” gestured a man who seemed to be in charge. “Walk on boat! Fill boat!” We did, and so did everyone else. We squeezed our way onto the narrow deck, jostling for position. And then we were off, basking in the breeze produced as we sailed downstream. Before long we pulled into another ferry stop. No one got off.

“Surely they can't get more people on?” I said to Angela. But I was wrong. A small Thai woman in charge of checking tickets yelled for them to come aboard. “Move down boat! Lots of room! Come, move down boat!” And somehow even more people squeezed into the already jam-packed vessel. It was a wonder we didn't sink.

That night, we wandered Patpong once more. “That picture looks nice,” said Angela as we hit the street markets. We were wandering past a stall selling photos. It was an eye-catching piece depicting three Buddhist monks walking over a wooden bridge. The haze in the background really added to the effect. The woman running the stall stood up and smiled. We didn't get the hard sell we were expecting; in fact the woman didn't speak once. She was deaf. Our bartering was conducted via a calculator until the price was agreed.

Nearby was a tiny stall selling scale model tuk-tuk’s made from recycled drinks cans. The one I chose used to be a Coca Cola can, the red and white logo clearly visible.

As we neared Patpong, we were again accosted by the ping pong touts. Ignoring them we went down one of the main streets, coming face to face with go-go girls sitting outside waiting for customers. Some gestured but most ignored us. They sat huddled in their skimpy attire enjoying their own conversations. A little further along we came across a middle aged white man surrounded by three young Thai girls. As we passed, our eyes met. At least he had the decency to look a little guilty.

“Let's go down there,” suggested Angela. She was pointing towards a road lit with red neon. Although we didn’t know it, we were heading into the heart of gay Bangkok. Men immediately rushed up to us, offering shows and god knows what else. “You want Bangkok Bigcock!” one tout said with a wink. All the bars had names such as Balls and Dick’s Cafe, and outside sat young Thai men in tight clothes. Further along sat two white men, both middle aged. I squeezed Angela's hand tighter as we exited the street at the other end.

The next morning we headed for Wat Pho to see the gigantic reclining Buddha. Just inside the entrance to the complex was some sort of primary school. A teacher was leading a procession of impossibly cute five-year-old Thai girls. Each child was carrying a small cup of water and a toothbrush. “I want to adopt one,” said Angela.

When we wandered into the temple containing the giant Golden Buddha we were both stunned. It was huge. I’d have needed a high ladder to reach its lower chin. Even its great golden feet towered high over our heads.

Another temple, Wat Arun, was only a short boat trip across the river, but first we went on a quick canal trip. We were the only two people aboard the long-tailed boat. It cost us 1000 Baht (about £15), probably double the going rate. The breeze was a godsend, as were the sights. Houses built on wooden stilts covered one side of the small canals. Men sat on small wooden jetties patiently holding their fishing lines. One hour later we were deposited near Wat Arun.

Wat Arun had a central tower we wanted to climb. It supposedly offered fantastic panoramic views of the other side of the river. We ascended the steps at a fair clip and soon reached the viewing platform. In the UK, nobody would have been allowed to climb the tower. Heath and Safety would have seen to that. But at the top the views were impressive. On the opposite shore we could easily see the Grand Palace in all its golden finery, and by looking south we couldn't miss the jungle of skyscrapers that was growing. Thailand: a real contrast of old and new.

Chinatown was a blaze of colour and humanity. Herbalists, spices shops, gold stores and noodle shops lined the busy streets. The traffic was hellish and the fumes were worse. No wonder many of the tuk-tuk drivers wore face masks. After bartering a price with one driver we were off, weaving dangerously all over the road at a manic pace. The fumes were just as bad but at least we had the breeze.

Beeeeep! came the noise from behind, a large bus. Our driver had tried to squeeze into a space not available to him. Beeeeep! this time from a taxi on our right. Our driver beeped his own horn and swerved into another lane. Beside me, Angela gripped the metal bar. Ten minutes later we arrived at our hotel safe and sound. Living on the edge was certainly cheap. The whole mad cap ride had cost less than a pound.

Our time in Bangkok was over and it had been an enjoyable experience. “But I think three days is enough,” said Angela as we headed back to the airport. “Let’s go to Laos.”

Strengths;

-Cheap goods

-Good food

-The hassle factor is extremely low

-Beautiful temples

-Cheap and wonderful massages

-Genuinely friendly people. Thailand is known as the Land of Smiles

-An interesting view down nearly every side streets

-Lots of open air markets

Weaknesses:

-Heat and humidity of August

-The major sights are quite spread out

-Fumes from traffic