I arrived in Bangkok two days ago after what was unquestionably the single worst experience I've had yet travelling. On no account should you fly GMG Airways (Bandgladeshi) if you value service, your dignity, or possibly your life. I could expound for some paragraphs about the details, but since I didn't enjoy experiencing them I expect I'll find recounting them equally unpleasant. Suffice it to say that I landed in Bangkok at midnight, instead of five o'clock in the evening, and as inspired to produce a limerick:
When travelling I suggest
That one avoids Bangladesh;
The plane's there won't fly,
But yet they'll try—
Effort, for once, won't impress.
And that concludes the dark chapter of my adventure I shall remember as Bangladesh (ok, this is entirely unfair—I never got past the airport, so under no circumstances am I picking on the country as a whole. But GMG Airlines, whew—don't do that). Thailand, meanwhile, has proven to be a marginally brighter experience if an extremely intimidating one.
I thought that Thailand would be a breeze after having spent so much time in India. Bangkok especially is a perfectly modern city with quite a lot of amenities Halifax will likely never have, not the least of which is a cool-ass skytrain (for those who are not in the know, on any occasion where the word 'sky' is used as a prefix for a machine, 'cool-ass' immediately becomes a viable adjective). Yet, the one thing that every city in India has over Bangkok (from a strictly Western—indeed, English—perspective, you understand) is quite a lot more history being run by the British; in fact, Bangkok hasn't got any of this at all and it shows. Everything is different—everything, it's completely surreal and so far I've found it very difficult to cope. Food has been intimidating in the extreme, and though lots of it looks delicious and all of my previous experiences with Thai cuisine bode well, there is so damn much of it and I haven't the slightest idea what any of it is called or how to discover what's in it. So, thus far I've dined at a Subway, a Pizza Hut and just this morning I found to my utter delight a Tibetan/Nepali/Indian restaurant that is completely authentic and makes the best damn momo's I've had yet (momo's are stuffed Tibetan dumplings). **I'm finishing this entry two days later than I started it, and I have since dabbled in some Thai food and discovered that yes, indeed, it is amazing.
But I think the most challenging part of Bangkok so far has been the sense that I am not welcome. It's not pervasive, and I've bumped into several friendly Thais who contradicted this. However, I'm a young, white, North American male and that, sadly, is not a favourable signature to have here. Allow me to explain.
As I mentioned, I arrived in Bangkok very late—after getting through customs and then taking a taxi into the heart of the city, I didn't actually arrive at my intended destination until about one in the morning. Said destination was Khao San Road, the infamous 'back-packer' strip of Bangkok. And, perhaps, twenty years ago it was indeed a great spot for the budget traveller. I've seen it by day, now, and it looks more or less like a normal street, albeit more densely populated by bars and farangs, or foreigners. At night, however, it's an entirely different universe. A couple of friends had warned me that I wouldn't like Bangkok much, and that for someone with spiritual endeavours I wouldn't find much there. I've made a point of keeping my blog PG-13, so to speak, but I'll let you in on a little secret—when I was a little closer to eighteen I was also significantly more interested in the various sorts of depravity North America has conjured up under the label of 'a good time'. Spending so much time around Tibetans had begun to wear me down, a little; as I've written here before, I've not yet broke the habit of seeing myself through the eyes of those around me, and Tibetan eyes are about as far from depraved as I've yet seen. I, at least, have had to work very hard to keep my conscience clean in their company. So, secretly, I was looking forward to a couple of days bar hopping and letting myself off the hook a bit. Khao San Road however, at one o'clock in the morning, did not satisfy my naughty ambitions. Rather it was, frankly, disgusting. I mean that word precisely—disgusting.
Thailand is world famous for its sex tourism; prostitution here is rampant, cheap, and also customizable, a history that stretches back to the Vietnam war, when American soldiers discovered unfortunate ways to blow off a little steam. In doing research on Bangkok from India I even ran into a couple of websites that allowed you to completely design your 'fantasy weekend' (or longer); you could choose the number of women to accompany you, their ages, and also which sort of explicit acts you wanted them to perform. And worse, these packages weighed in at around $300CAD. In the north, where rural life is more common, as is poverty, women are often shuttled down to Bangkok (or even sold out of Thailand) because their bodies are more profitable on the streets than in the fields.
Khao San was littered with what I expect were various western military boys on leave; bulging muscles and crew cuts covered in designer hats and mismatched clothing, beer and cigarettes, vacant eyes. No one looked healthy, despite their bulk; sunken, dark rimmed eyes and pale, sickly skin sat in drunken postures all around me. The North American women reminded me of the sort who were very popular in their first year of university but had, by the end, failed to mature and thus given themselves over to their various appetites. Bright, orange tans, hair that had been forced blonde, and body shapes that smacked of bulimia or at least binge eating and crash dieting scanned the crowd, looking to garner the attentions of the boys. I don't have contempt for these people so much as pity; they just looked lost, or hurt, or both, and the medication they'd found wasn't helping.
The roads themselves were sticky from spilt beer, and Thais, looking depressed, sat at stalls or booths or wagons hawking beer, bongs, t-shirts and their own bodies. At an estimate I'd say one North American male in five had a Thai woman with dense make-up and revealing clothes at their side or on riding on them piggy-back. Most of them walked holding hands, an intimacy I find, in a way, more revolting than the sexual acts to follow because… because one should, at the very least, not have to buy affection. All of these men refused to make eye-contact; they wore their shame plane on their faces, and searched the place with their eyes—I had the impression that they were seeking confirmation that other men were complicit in their act; and, of course, they were. It was a noisy, raucous, dirty, drunken, abusive affair that I exited in about ten minutes. I hadn't slept in two days and I had about 40kg on my back, but I think I was still privately glad that ever guest-house I found on Khao San was full. Oh, and it is by no means a 'backpacker' spot; the cheapest guesthouse I found there was 600 baht, and most settled in near 1000; I'm currently paying 400 baht, and I've found a place that charges 150 (but only after I'd paid for the week at my current spot…)!
And you can see it on the faces of the locals, the contempt, their sense that you've come to use their entire city like a motel room. It's a very Buddhist country, the place is littered with gorgeous temples (wats), and people exchange little bows with each other everywhere. So they try to be polite, but sometimes you can just see it, naked contempt, and I hate it. I didn't earn it, damn it! I'm not that white guy. And I can communicate it, a little; the guesthouse I am staying is a nice example. It's taken me three days to get the staff to warm up to me, but with a quiet, gentle demeanour, polite questions and iterative thank-you's, and finally my continued sobriety and lack of 'company', I've finally begun to receive warm smiles and friendly 'hello's. My message to white people everywhere, and especially men: Please stay the hell home if all you want to do is be a nuisance. You're ruining it for the rest of us.
So, I've felt intimidated by Bangkok and have ventured into it very little. I have to return here, probably twice, before I leave; my current plan is just to get the hell out of it, for now, and perhaps to explore it further when I pass through again. Instead I'm intending to head north, to check out a retreat that's been recommended to me, and maybe to try my hand at a little trekking. But I'm keen to spend the last of my two months in Thailand in the south, among the vast archipelago of islands, where I've heard that if one searches persistently enough you can find a little solitude and a cheap shack to live in. A quiet spot on a tropical beach with only meditation, web design and a little yoga suits me just fine. And yes, I do intend to take pictures!
When travelling I suggest
That one avoids Bangladesh;
The plane's there won't fly,
But yet they'll try—
Effort, for once, won't impress.
And that concludes the dark chapter of my adventure I shall remember as Bangladesh (ok, this is entirely unfair—I never got past the airport, so under no circumstances am I picking on the country as a whole. But GMG Airlines, whew—don't do that). Thailand, meanwhile, has proven to be a marginally brighter experience if an extremely intimidating one.
I thought that Thailand would be a breeze after having spent so much time in India. Bangkok especially is a perfectly modern city with quite a lot of amenities Halifax will likely never have, not the least of which is a cool-ass skytrain (for those who are not in the know, on any occasion where the word 'sky' is used as a prefix for a machine, 'cool-ass' immediately becomes a viable adjective). Yet, the one thing that every city in India has over Bangkok (from a strictly Western—indeed, English—perspective, you understand) is quite a lot more history being run by the British; in fact, Bangkok hasn't got any of this at all and it shows. Everything is different—everything, it's completely surreal and so far I've found it very difficult to cope. Food has been intimidating in the extreme, and though lots of it looks delicious and all of my previous experiences with Thai cuisine bode well, there is so damn much of it and I haven't the slightest idea what any of it is called or how to discover what's in it. So, thus far I've dined at a Subway, a Pizza Hut and just this morning I found to my utter delight a Tibetan/Nepali/Indian restaurant that is completely authentic and makes the best damn momo's I've had yet (momo's are stuffed Tibetan dumplings). **I'm finishing this entry two days later than I started it, and I have since dabbled in some Thai food and discovered that yes, indeed, it is amazing.
But I think the most challenging part of Bangkok so far has been the sense that I am not welcome. It's not pervasive, and I've bumped into several friendly Thais who contradicted this. However, I'm a young, white, North American male and that, sadly, is not a favourable signature to have here. Allow me to explain.
As I mentioned, I arrived in Bangkok very late—after getting through customs and then taking a taxi into the heart of the city, I didn't actually arrive at my intended destination until about one in the morning. Said destination was Khao San Road, the infamous 'back-packer' strip of Bangkok. And, perhaps, twenty years ago it was indeed a great spot for the budget traveller. I've seen it by day, now, and it looks more or less like a normal street, albeit more densely populated by bars and farangs, or foreigners. At night, however, it's an entirely different universe. A couple of friends had warned me that I wouldn't like Bangkok much, and that for someone with spiritual endeavours I wouldn't find much there. I've made a point of keeping my blog PG-13, so to speak, but I'll let you in on a little secret—when I was a little closer to eighteen I was also significantly more interested in the various sorts of depravity North America has conjured up under the label of 'a good time'. Spending so much time around Tibetans had begun to wear me down, a little; as I've written here before, I've not yet broke the habit of seeing myself through the eyes of those around me, and Tibetan eyes are about as far from depraved as I've yet seen. I, at least, have had to work very hard to keep my conscience clean in their company. So, secretly, I was looking forward to a couple of days bar hopping and letting myself off the hook a bit. Khao San Road however, at one o'clock in the morning, did not satisfy my naughty ambitions. Rather it was, frankly, disgusting. I mean that word precisely—disgusting.
Thailand is world famous for its sex tourism; prostitution here is rampant, cheap, and also customizable, a history that stretches back to the Vietnam war, when American soldiers discovered unfortunate ways to blow off a little steam. In doing research on Bangkok from India I even ran into a couple of websites that allowed you to completely design your 'fantasy weekend' (or longer); you could choose the number of women to accompany you, their ages, and also which sort of explicit acts you wanted them to perform. And worse, these packages weighed in at around $300CAD. In the north, where rural life is more common, as is poverty, women are often shuttled down to Bangkok (or even sold out of Thailand) because their bodies are more profitable on the streets than in the fields.
Khao San was littered with what I expect were various western military boys on leave; bulging muscles and crew cuts covered in designer hats and mismatched clothing, beer and cigarettes, vacant eyes. No one looked healthy, despite their bulk; sunken, dark rimmed eyes and pale, sickly skin sat in drunken postures all around me. The North American women reminded me of the sort who were very popular in their first year of university but had, by the end, failed to mature and thus given themselves over to their various appetites. Bright, orange tans, hair that had been forced blonde, and body shapes that smacked of bulimia or at least binge eating and crash dieting scanned the crowd, looking to garner the attentions of the boys. I don't have contempt for these people so much as pity; they just looked lost, or hurt, or both, and the medication they'd found wasn't helping.
The roads themselves were sticky from spilt beer, and Thais, looking depressed, sat at stalls or booths or wagons hawking beer, bongs, t-shirts and their own bodies. At an estimate I'd say one North American male in five had a Thai woman with dense make-up and revealing clothes at their side or on riding on them piggy-back. Most of them walked holding hands, an intimacy I find, in a way, more revolting than the sexual acts to follow because… because one should, at the very least, not have to buy affection. All of these men refused to make eye-contact; they wore their shame plane on their faces, and searched the place with their eyes—I had the impression that they were seeking confirmation that other men were complicit in their act; and, of course, they were. It was a noisy, raucous, dirty, drunken, abusive affair that I exited in about ten minutes. I hadn't slept in two days and I had about 40kg on my back, but I think I was still privately glad that ever guest-house I found on Khao San was full. Oh, and it is by no means a 'backpacker' spot; the cheapest guesthouse I found there was 600 baht, and most settled in near 1000; I'm currently paying 400 baht, and I've found a place that charges 150 (but only after I'd paid for the week at my current spot…)!
And you can see it on the faces of the locals, the contempt, their sense that you've come to use their entire city like a motel room. It's a very Buddhist country, the place is littered with gorgeous temples (wats), and people exchange little bows with each other everywhere. So they try to be polite, but sometimes you can just see it, naked contempt, and I hate it. I didn't earn it, damn it! I'm not that white guy. And I can communicate it, a little; the guesthouse I am staying is a nice example. It's taken me three days to get the staff to warm up to me, but with a quiet, gentle demeanour, polite questions and iterative thank-you's, and finally my continued sobriety and lack of 'company', I've finally begun to receive warm smiles and friendly 'hello's. My message to white people everywhere, and especially men: Please stay the hell home if all you want to do is be a nuisance. You're ruining it for the rest of us.
So, I've felt intimidated by Bangkok and have ventured into it very little. I have to return here, probably twice, before I leave; my current plan is just to get the hell out of it, for now, and perhaps to explore it further when I pass through again. Instead I'm intending to head north, to check out a retreat that's been recommended to me, and maybe to try my hand at a little trekking. But I'm keen to spend the last of my two months in Thailand in the south, among the vast archipelago of islands, where I've heard that if one searches persistently enough you can find a little solitude and a cheap shack to live in. A quiet spot on a tropical beach with only meditation, web design and a little yoga suits me just fine. And yes, I do intend to take pictures!
No comments:
Post a Comment