Where is the Bangkok I once knew?
A few days ago I opened the television and saw the violence flooding into the streets of Bangkok. It is always somewhat of a shock to see a place you have been and love transform itself in such a way.
But really -- where has the Bangkok I once knew gone to? A year ago, you would have thought Thailand was the most tranquil, peaceful country. Despite of the atrocities we see on the television, I would like to conjure a memory of Bangkok still intact, once of smiles and kindness and goodwill.
The story starts a year ago, when Matt and I finally arrive to destination, with all of our colleagues. I must say on the onset -- I did not see all of the tourist places. I missed the Grand Palace, unfortunately (in fact I will probably have to make up for it by doing a bit of research and uncovering just what precisely I have missed), and many more places. But what I saw was invaluable. I split my trip into three parts: the first two days with Matthew, the second portion of the trip with Arvid and a couple of friends, and the third at the beach in Pataya. The episode I would like to talk about today pertains to the first portion of our trip.
After China, Thailand was a most welcome destination - right when we got on land we could see the difference. While no one spoke our language in any of the cases, the Chinese were more distant and emotionally restrained, while the Thai are very warm and extremely expressive and curious. This made me comfortable from the start, as I relate well to these cultures, being from a Latin background (and hence being emotionally expressive) myself.
Matt and I had decided to let go of the whole tourist experience and decided to take the road less traveled. Throughout the experience, Matt was very "protective" I would say - always having me walk in front of him so he could keep an eye on me and the people around. Although I sensed no immediate danger on the spot, I now realize it was probably very wise.
So we threw away the map, took our cameras, and set out. We reasoned that, if this city was like most cities in the world, there would probably be an aggregation of population near the water banks. So with a rough estimation she set out in one direction, which, it seemed, would lead us to the water. This unorthodox path led us through all sorts of quarters - the hospitals and pharmacy quarters, the schools quarters, the big skyscrapers-downtown quarters, through temples and parks. It was a way of really discovering the country through the eyes of the residents, striving to understand what each place was meant for, as we did not speak the language.
Everywhere we went, thought, people were very very nice, and extremely beautiful. I mused over their features and took so many pictures -- but not in an aggressive touristy way. We played with the children we met in the streets, we talked a bit to families as best as we could. We tried not to be too paparazzi-style though of course the tentation was big. The beautiful thing though is that each picture now holds a memory - an identity, a story about an individual, no longer an anonymous face from the masses.
The place was extremely crowded everywhere we went. The density is huge compared to North America or Europe. But people were surprinsingly enough extremely civil - you would think that a big swarm of people could mean more potential fights and disrespect when it comes to taking turns, etc. but somehow the Thai really nailed down the living in community aspect.
It is difficult to see all we have seen in those first two days -- it would probably take me almost two days just to write. Thailand was truly a delight and with my other friends, too, I got to truly see three completely different sides of Thailand - with Bangkok, the beach and the old capital. But the most striking thing I saw of all was when, by the end of the first day, Matt and I had finally reached the waterbank. You could see the water taxis and water buses zooming past the houses on the shore. The houses were very compact, small, and built out of simple materials such as tin. Although the housing conditions at first didn't appear great, I realized that they did not know the snow storms we did -- the heat was probably their biggest enemy, with no fans. The curious thing though was that televisions - either plugged to electricity or on battery - were running in some households, an unexpected find there.
The houses were like a maze, a labyrinth, to us. The streets bore no name and all resembled each other. As we made our way through tiny streets of dirt, surrounded by so many compact houses, I kept wondering how children could find their way back to their own home when wandering away.
The streets in developing countries are very different from the G8 countries; it seems easier to engage with local population. Everywhere we went, kids were playing outside on the streets, often with a dad watching over them. Older ladies held little restaurants improvised right outside of their home, cooking things for people of the neighborhood. I remember being shocked -- how could people in such poverty still afford a meal cooked by someone else - a restaurant take-out equivalent? Because clearly there came no one from the outside in these outskirts of downtown, so the people buying that restaurant food must have been from the neighborhood. Even more striking was at the corner of a street, where a proper shop existed, kids were playing on video games on the computers. Had the owner let them enjoy a free game, or were the rates simply affordable to the population? Walking past the improvised restaurants, pharmacies and toy stores, all under compact tin shacks, I kept marveling at how organized this society had managed to be. And the laughter of children running into the streets until the dark came reassured me that indeed it must have been somewhat of a safe place - although I was still acutely aware that I was, for once, a visible minority. I could be spotted miles away as a young foreign girl, and so when the dark finally fell, I ask Matt to head back home. Unalarmed, he kept saying how there really is no immediate danger, but knowing all too well that when night falls, things could change, we pressed our way out of the little maze, found a taxi and drove home, safely.
The memory I keep of Bangkok is very rich. Two worlds sharing a same name -- the luxurious, high-class downtown with its shopping malls and delights for upper classes and tourists, and, only a few street corners away, so close and yet unvisited, the Bangkok of the people, the narrow dirt roads, the tin shacks, the motorcycle daddies with their babies on their back watching over the children of the city as they play.
This stop was certainly one of the most memorable ones - appart from Turkey, there is no other place where I have been able to "feel" the place as well. To immerse myself in it. There was something deam-like about Thailand. It seemed like a little paradise. The food was exquisite, the people so kind and caring, the water of the heart, as they say.
Watching it on the news on television these days, I cannot recognize this haven of peace. I see the pictures on the screen, but it does not look at all like the kind and beautiful place that it is. That's the thing with countries - despite their reality, in the end, they stay in our minds untouched and preserved, a collection of marvelous moments etched in our lives.
