...the obvious economic power in Sukumvit, where the Thai women look bigger than those lower down the economic ladder, they're taller and curvier like the Asian women further north. Many are doing ablutions around Erawan, to the accompanying music of tradition dancers and musicians. I'm amazed at how young most of the worshippers are, how seamless the fusion of commerce and spirit...
...tuk-tuk scurries across the city. The driver picks up his wife, who bats him about the shoulders or shrieks when he does something reckless, which eggs him on even more. We three in the back share a bond, as we rush between tons of chrome and steel, choking on exhaust fumes...
...the surly staff at The Atlanta. My mother for 2 days, grabbing my wallet and cash when I'm too confused and tired to pay my taxi driver. Lightly slapping my cheek when I can't find my visa. Slapping Miki's hand when she uses the wrong utensils. Late night dip in Thailand's first swimming pool. Sitting in the high red booth, which, like the menu, haven't changed since the hotel opened back in 1952. (The music here is two decades older still.) The hyperbole of the signs around the place, threats and insults softened by the erudition. The desks reserved for writing, and the books penned by former guests. A glimpse of "The Queen," as she's led quietly to her Volvo, her cat ceaselessly yowling in its cage. Her son, the mysterious Charles Henn, being simultaneously nowhere and everywhere. Ah, The Atlanta! Such a reminder of more genteel times...
...a cabbie, all smiles and seemingly without a care, as he leans against his brokedown cab on the highway late at night. An example of 'Mai Pen Rai" optimism vs. the fatalism of "Shoganai"...
...farang circus on Khao San Rd. Slumping, hulking, frowning beasts. No one talks at any of the cafe tables, just looking cool and seeing who comes by. Posers. Khao San on steroids now, spilling into the street itself. A far cry from the week I spent here in 1997, though I did notice the change beginning during another visit in 2003. A different breed of backpacker now, more Asians and Eastern Europeans, the latter unmistakable since they swagger like thugs. A meaner spirit here now, less experience and more consumption (though that may have also been true back in '97). Western girls showing ridiculous amounts of flesh, their nearly visible breasts swinging in tank tops like udders. A cop with his vice grip on a young Thai who's nearly gone limp. Another Thai (friend? foe?) stands nearby yelling at him. A couple of seedy looking foreign guys involved somehow. The whole street looks on, except for the cafe workers who try to ignore it and keep busy. "Something to drink, sir?" Miki and I spend half the day here prepping for our journeys out. We stay at the D&D, but their are no dungeons or dragons to be seen. We are happy with our cheap, quiet room, until returning at night to find we're just below the rooftop bar which pumps bass downward until late. Change rooms the next day, then change hotels the next, moving away from Khao San entirely to a small dark rental house nearby, which has no hot water and loses its electricity after dusk. Many late night massages. Free breakfast on the carp patio, watched over by a cross-eyed cat. Fireworks for the King's birthday, watched from the roof of the D&D, bursting over the city like it's under siege by the red shirts, who'd demonstrated near the Democracy monument earlier in the day. (This political tension hung over our entire trip, with the king lying ill in hospital. Had he died, we planned to flee the country immediately. But the violence held off for a few more months, before erupting in March.) As the explosions rock the city, the Western punters below, oblivious due to the rock-blockin' beats, party on...
On the turntable: X-Ray Spex, "Germfree Adolescents"
No comments:
Post a Comment