Bangkok, Dangerous?

As we all know from having watched the opening several minutes of The Beach, Bangkok is the sort of place where you will be invited to a back room and offered a shot glass of snake blood within moments of arrival. As we learned from OngBak, its back alleys are a hot bed of street fighting. Also, for those of you who saw Bangkok Dangerous and Hangover II, Bangkok is a den of perpetually, percolating, polyamorous vice and depravity where anything goes and usually does.

I, however, went to the mall because Bangkok is also, after two months in China, the sort of place where you can buy a good book. Streets are colorful, food is light and healthy, and transportation is quick. Bus, train, and subway stations were clean and organized—the train station even employed a roving group of English speaking guides to give people advice and direct them to the proper ticket counters.

I emphasize all this because the very name “Bangkok” carries a sense of sleaze—or, to some, romance. I expected chaos and confusion, but was met with tranquility. I certainly saw hints of the less seemly side: shacks covered in tin-roofing lining the train tracks; canals radiating through the city, bearing viscous, black, foul-smelling water to the population. I have no doubt that far less savory sights can be found easily, and yet . . .

When I went to the Paragon Mall (site of the most well stocked English book store I have ever seen in Asia) there was a Japan-themed festival going on. A huge stage had been erected and all through the ground floor were (Japanese?) kids dressed in the most fantastical anime-inspired outfits. Crowds of Thais mobbed around these kids, snapping photos. All this was a far cry from China were the following question prompt, “If you had a million dollars what would you do?” had elicited the response from one eight year old, “I would go to Japan and kill many Japanese.” (He was particularly good grammatically.)

I spent most of my two days in the city wandering around to various spots with a friend who teaches ESL there. She’s a fan of architecture and the like, but I prefer just wandering streets and eating various foods—and Bangkok’s layout allows for both. However, compared to Xi’an, Bangkok was not particularly packed with excitement or with people. Whereas a typical Xianese street would be overrun with children and overseen by groups of old people, Bangkok could be relatively desolate outside the center.

There were other, more mundane surprises as well. Thai food in Thailand was the same as in Seattle—with the exception that Thai’s do not use chopsticks. Thai toilets were often of the squat variety, but raised in a manner that required you climb up on to them and perch. Cars in Thailand drive on the left side of the road—I suppose on account of British or Japanese influence—and, most shockingly, drivers observe traffic rules. Motorcyclists wore helmets! The legendary tuk tuks I’d heard of with their opposite-direction driving were prettier and no more aggressive than the Chinese sort. All in all, Thailand seemed pretty tame.

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From Bangkok, I headed south to Ko Pha Ngan, an island off the eastern coast. To get there I took a train to the city of Surrothani. Arriving, I braced myself for an onslaught of touts and assorted shysters. There were none and, as per Lonely Planet’s advice, I took a city bus to what I understood would be the port. From the bus’ final stop I wandered around asking where Ko Pha Ngan was and getting all variety of conflicting directional gestures. An hour’s walking around in various directions led me to realize that I was still 60 km inland from the port located at Donsak. Right beside the final bus stop was a travel agent and clusters of backpackers whom I asked for directions:

“Are you going to the ferry?” I asked.

“No,” they all told me. Each group seemed to have other plans, many involving a place called Krabi that none of them knew much about. When I tried to learn what was in Krabi, I received shrugs. (NB. Krabi is the location used to film Kashyyk, so perhaps these tourists are simply all Star Wars devotees.)

The travel agent offered buses to the port and ferry tickets for 350 baht (about $15), but I figured I could do better. First I found a covered truck-cum-taxi that gave me (and a revolving assortment of locals) a ride to Donsak amid a rain storm. 50 baht. Donsak’s station was not, however, at the port either and from here I got a ride on the back of a scooter for another 7km to the ferry. Quoted price 70 baht, demanded price 100 baht. The ferry ticket was 220 baht bringing my cost to 370. Had I bothered to negotiate, I could have realistically saved at most 50 baht ($2).

Waiting at the Donsak ferry terminal, whatever part of me had set itself to be wise to all scams and wary on all fronts while in Thailand died and I resolved to stick to the cost-effective, hassle-free tourist trail for the duration.

The ferry terminal and the ride out to the islands were almost identical to the commute I’ve made hundreds of times in my life from San Juan to the mainland and back. Contemplating the small, greenery covered islands passing by from my seat on the green and white painted deck of the ferry, I wondered if I should really be spending time on a small island when I’d already spent over eighteen years doing the same, in albeit colder climates.

****

Ko Pha Ngan is known for its Full Moon Parties where huge numbers of tourists converge on the beached to get shit-faced and do like rabbits. Over the years business-savvy locals have added Half Moon Parties. I arrived in the lull between either of these. The same resourceful locals, however, were now advertising something called a “Black Moon Party” that evening. I wasn’t in the mood and set out along the road to Hat Rin at the south end of the island where there were numerous cheap accommodations. Between the ferry landing and the town lay a 10km road. I didn’t plan on trekking the whole thing, but imagined that, once outside the landing’s concentration of stores, I would find a nice little seaside walk ahead of me.

Not so. The whole way was lined with stores and shacks. Squalid little hotels and dilapidated bars. As renting a scooter was so simple, tourists went roaring up and down the road, stopping at these various spots to refresh. Tiring of this endless range of run down little places I was passing, I decided to get in a taxi I saw idling up ahead. The driver had gotten out and crossed to a small bar across the road, and, as I hopped in the back, she returned, followed by a group of four tall, handsome white guys who were, in turn, followed by a group of girls calling after them and blowing them kisses. Upon loading in, the driver explained that they still owed money to the girls. I waited while they bickered with her about prices. When, finally, we headed off, there was some awkwardness in chit chat. Two asked me where I was from and how long I was traveling. The other (who had popped some pill back at the bar) was holding his head. The forth worried aloud that he had just caught the clap and asked my advice on clinics.

This seemed more like the Thailand I had imagined.