Our Second Day in Bangkok

Our second day in Bangkok with Bee and our driver was an action packed day. We left the hotel early and drove about 80 km to the largest floating market in Thailand. When we arrived we got into another canal boat and motored at a leisurely speed through another residential canal similar to the one described from yesterday. Out of nowhere appeared a very large white Buddha, just a little neighborhood icon for the locals to revere. Some very nice homes all with spirit houses are along this canal and it took about ten minutes or so to reach the floating market.

For some reason, we didn’t stop at any of the stops along the river but went instead to a large shopping complex on the water where there were vendors galore selling everything from straw bags to large rugs to metalware of all kinds, clothing of every description (mostly cheap) and lots of corny souvenirs. The bargaining was fun though and Mary and I came away with a few goodies.

The most interesting thing about the market was the mile after mile of shops and stores right on the water. (Well, it seemed like mile after mile, but it was probably much less than that). I’ve always thought of floating markets as a bunch of boats floating and selling their wares and there was a little of that, but here most of the commercial activity was stationary but right at the edge of the water. People would come up in their boats to buy the goods and there was a lot of trading going on. It is quite fascinating to watch yet another way humankind has invented to make a living. So much of the same thing is being sold from one shop to the next you wonder how they manage, but Bee said they survive so they must sell something. I suspect the camaraderie is just as important or more important than the sales, because the talking and gesturing and backslapping and handshaking and smiling and laughing that goes on is clear evidence of that. In my opinion, we didn’t spend enough time at the floating market, but we had to leave because other amusements were waiting back in Bangkok. So after a while, back into the boat we piled and headed back to the embarkation point for the ride back to the city.

Back in Bangkok, we headed for the Jim Thompson house, the former home of an American ex-pat in Bangkok who single-handedly revived and rebuilt the silk industry in Thailand during the 1950’s. He became very rich and highly revered by the Thais for his efforts on their behalf, but on a trip to Cambodia in 1963 with a friend, he went out for a morning walk and never returned. No one has ever found out what became of him but there is endless speculation including that he was captured by head hunters in the jungle and that he was an undercover CIA agent and disappeared of his own free will. His house is now on the tourist circuit because it is an especially fine example of Thai architecture and design and filled with wonderful antiques and authentic furnishings from that era. It is made entirely of teak and is comprised of three separate smaller houses joined together by passageways. Quite beautiful. Hot, though. I don’t know how he stood it without AC. Since our last visit, they have added an air-conditioned restaurant where we had lunch before touring the house.

After our visit with Jim, we drove to Chinatown, a fascinating section of the city which Mary and I did not see on our first trip. We walked the streets and alleys with Bee at the lead for a couple of hours fascinated by the brilliantly lit gold shops, the street-side food vendors, the Chinese banners that span the streets, the tiny shops barely wide enough for one person to enter, and things not only visual but sensual—like the sounds of traffic and music, the smells of dried fish and Chinese herbs, chestnuts literally roasting on an open fire, a profusion of tiny fried quail’s eggs, and a young woman in a white halter dress with red polka dots, red floppy hat and white go-go boots surrounded by cameras, obviously a starlet or model of some repute. We took her picture too and she turned and smiled fetchingly enjoying the foreign attention.

I had brought some Chinese cough drops from our favorite Asian market in Dallas and given a few to Neil who had a bit of a sore throat. He liked them and while we were in Chinatown he opined that maybe we could purchase something similar so that we would have an ample supply. Bee took the empty package and showed them to a shopkeeper who immediately produced the exact same brand! Dr. Chang’s throat lozenges or some such name, but he must be a famous guy to have made it all the way to Dallas. In retrospect, I wish I had bought a few packs myself because I think they were a lot cheaper. It’s becoming a very small world.

We returned to Paradise, aka the Oriental Hotel, in time to get cleaned up and descend to the dock for our dinner cruise aboard the Menhora, the same boat we girls had taken three years ago and remembered so fondly. Mary and I had gone to the concierge the day before to make the reservation and the concierge had said that that particular dinner cruise involved taking another boat to another pier but if we took the Oriental dinner cruise (for about $10 more), we would be picked up right at our own private pier. No, we said, we wanted the Menhora, because we had done it before and loved it. Is your cruise the same, we asked. Exactly the same, she said, same boat, same food. The only difference is that the boat picks up at the Oriental instead of someplace else. So we happily paid the little extra money for the convenience of being picked up at “home.” Well, there was one small difference as it turned out. The boat was indeed the same, but the food was served buffet style, with the buffet table taking up the entire center of the main deck. tThat left only the periphery for the tables where we were seated, and oh by the way the food was cold and lousy, the atmosphere was hectic what with everyone having to get up to get their food, and the bottom line was we were very disappointed. To add insult to injury, the real Menhora sailed right by us with a smallish group, table service with uniformed waiters and open bar at the end of the deck in full evidence. Mary and I were furious. So the next morning we headed for the manager’s office and after a polite but forceful harangue, a highly chagrined and endlessly apologetic day manager refunded half our money but not our wounded pride for not having delivered the promised experience to our beloveds.

The truth is, the cruise was still lovely—the boat beautiful, tables decked with the finest silver and linen, good wine in silver buckets, the same uniformed waiters, etc. and of course it was the same fabulous river with all of its magical lights and river traffic, etc., but it WASN’T THE SAME! I guess the lesson learned is that you can never really go back and that nothing is ever really the same.