The first time the Gentleman Friend and I came to Bangkok we stayed in Phra Arthit, just to the north of the older parts of town. On Saturday, after I finished up with some work, we went first to Siam Square where the GF bought a new telephone to replace the one that was old and severely battered (as the second-hand phone shop salesman told him, ‘your phone ugly on the outside and ugly on the inside’ which he found rather wounding). We then took a tuk-tuk to Wat Pho. I had forgotten how much nicer tuk-tuks are to ride around in, even with dust and pollution one inevitably inhales. So much better than rickshaws, too.
Wat Pho was a reminder how stately the sites of Bangkok are – again, we hadn’t visited them in a decade, with any trips in the interim being confined to less touristy activities. We wandered around, admiring the reclining Buddha and taking photos with the GF’s excellent new camera, then went for a massage at the massage school. This, sadly, had declined: from the peremptory no-fuss expertise of a decade ago it was a massage designed for a conveyor belt of tourists, light of touch and uninteresting in diagnosing and treating specific concerns. Ah well.
Then we walked to Chinatown, past the giant swing which we remembered from earlier days as being the location of a steamed bread and condensed milk cafe, as well as near a park where we got our first glimpse of a sepak takraw match, a proper one, high-speed and almost balletic. We had decided to go back to the famous pad thai place. Ten years ago we hadn’t had to queue and the restaurant was crowded and noisy but in look and feel like any other modest restaurant. I remember the stools being particularly wobbly, the lighting being smudged and greenish, and a tasty pad thai chosen from a range only by pointing at the next table. This time the queue was an hour long (not our preferred way of dining but the sunk cost fallacy took hold of us), the restaurant occupied at least three professionally done up rooms, and a menu that had shrunk to their speciality, a pad thai wrapped in thin egg, and an upgrade with larger prawns. It wasn’t nearly as delicious as I remember it, though as the GF pointed out, char kway teow in Malaysia is clearly the most delicious sibling of the same dish. Ah well, it was a pleasant day and during the queue I listened to a podcast about the new Chinese social credit system, how it’s covered in the West (BLACK MIRROR!) and how it’s regarded in China.
On Sunday morning I dashed to Chatuchak and stocked up on the trousers I had purchased the previous week. They were an usually good fit, a rare treat, so I got two more in different colours.
It sounds like I have found this return to Bangkok a disappointment, but that is really not so. I suppose we were bsaically backpackers then, and the places that the Lonely Planet dubbed authentic are now well-oiled tourism machines.