...continued from part 1

Despite the rather full-on day I had yesterday, I was determined not to miss my planned excursion today. Even so, when the alarm woke me at 6:45am, it took some effort to drag myself out of bed. Still, it's amazing what an ice-cold shower and a decent breakfast will do, even without the coffee (no coffee, tea, coke or red wine for 10 days said the dentist) and by 8:30 I was on my way to the Chatuchak markets.

Chatuchak is the largest open-air market in the world, comprising some 5,000 stalls covering a 35-acre area; the size of a few city blocks or a good size stadium. My Dad had advised me to get there early, in order to beat the worst of the heat and the crowds which inevitably flock there and by 9am I was strolling through the gates.

Like many features of developed and westernised Asian cities, the Chatuchak markets are a curious (and sometimes ironic) mix of the ancient and the modern; Old men and women carrying large packages on poles or bicycles are tooted aside by young men in Toyota pickup trucks, loaded with brand-covered boxes and crates. Traditional Thai folk music, drifts and mixes weirdly with strains from Oasis Wonderwall and Loretta Lynn's Coal Miner's Daughter. The occasional pungent smell of plastic packaging (filled with insecticide) quickly gives way to burning Sandalwood incense or freshly cooked food.

While the market is technically "open air", much of it is covered in a corrugated iron framework and many of the permanent stalls have roller-door security. This creates a huge maze of little alleyways and it's easy to get a little disoriented. But moments after stepping out onto one of the two main roads that run the length of the market and you quickly re-acquire your bearings.

In terms of layout, the market is divided into a number of rough sections, each offering a particular range or type of goods. There are separate areas for household goods, arts and crafts, clothing (new and used), curios, souvenirs and so forth. But in the best traditions of markets everywhere, the lines are nicely blurred to a degree that it's sometimes several minutes before you realise you have wandered into a new area.

The range and variety of goods on sale was not huge, and many stalls sold pretty much identical stuff. Still, there were a few exceptions and on the whole, it was enough to remain interesting for awhile. Quite a few of the stallholders were sullen and didn't seem to want to bargain much, perhaps because of the uncertain political situation, but more likely because of the heat, which reached around 35 degrees Celsius by midday.

Just before noon, I passed a large stall offering foot massages. My aching feet took control of my brain and marched me straight to the nearest comfortable recliner under a cooling fan, where an attractive and smiling masseuse washed and then massaged my feet and calves for a glorious 30 minutes. I emerged in a blissful state, feeling like I was walking on air.

After stopping at a drinks stall to purchase an ice-cold coconut juice, I felt invigorated enough to continue the circuit, but 20 minutes later I caught a whiff of something delicious, drifting from a nearby covered walkway and my stomach directed my now-happy feet in the appropriate direction. I soon located the source; a wonderful little restaurant of hardwood tables and comfortable leather-backed chairs, set amid sprays of ferns and fresh flowers, with the mingled smells of Jasmine tea, incense and cooking.

A chilled hand towel and cold Chang beer arrived minutes after I settled into a corner table and 15 minutes later I was enjoying freshly quick-fried prawns with sticky coconut rice with fresh greens and slivers of mango, mixed with a much more reasonable level of garlic and chilli. What a find!

The Thai love of spicy food is of course well known, but less well known is their almost equal love of anything sweet. A number of their traditional desert dishes and cakes (which are often light and clear the palate very well) are delicious and well worth sampling. I particularly liked the a green cream-filled sponge cake, known locally as "Pandam".

With the body fully refuelled, I reluctantly emerged back into the now scorching heat. 15 minutes later, I decided I'd seen enough and made my way back to the hotel and a quiet night in...

While writing this blog entry in the wee hours, I picked up the news of a second grenade attack - this time targeting the house of former Thai Prime Minister Banharn Silpa-archa and injuring 11 people (including 3 policemen) in the process. Assailants who were on a motorcycle missed Bahran's residence, but injured the three police officers on guard as well as eight other people, one of whom is in critical condition.

Not such a restful night followed...

Monday dawned with a dreamy blue sky that promised another hot day. having no plans, I had a late, leisurely breakfast and then surfed the web looking for something to do. I settled on visiting the Temple of the Golden Buddha, the largest gold statue in the world.

Taking the MRT to Hua Lamphong, I walked out into the full heat of the day and after wandering around a little, eventually bumped into a couple of German tourists; they needed to know the way to the MRT and I needed to know the way to the temple of Wat Traimit - a perfect swap. 5 minutes later, I was standing at the gates.

So that's what 5 tonnes of gold looks like...pretty impressive.

On my way back to Huai Kwang, I noticed that the police were now sporting handcuffs and side arms...

Back to the hotel around 4:30 for a shower and a lite bite, before heading out into Huai Kwang for the evening. Found a great little outdoor bar with a duet of guitarists, singing underneath a huge palm tree, with tea-light lamps hanging from it's fronds, all under a balmy moonlit sky...I knew I was stopping for the night and it was 4am by the time I stumbled back into the hotel.

The following afternoon as I headed out to the airport, we passed a platoon of troops setting up roadblocks / checkpoints. All were dressed in what looked like full battle kit, though arms were not overly evident. At the airport, most of the airport concourse entrances had been sealed off and roving patrols of both police and army personnel had been increased.

As my plane took off, I pondered the slightly surreal experience of what I'd seen in the last few days; It's a bit weird, watching people trying to get on with the day-to-day business of living, when a potential disaster looms so prominently overhead.

Here's hoping they find a way to stop the trouble brewing...

Update: The day after I flew out, the red-shirts clashed with troops and two days later protesters forced their way onto the grounds of a Bangkok hospital. The situation remains tense...

My second trip to Bangkok was undertaken with some degree of trepidation.

Shortly after I booked my tickets in early March, large numbers of supporters of the ousted president Thaksin Shinawatra started to congregate around the business and government districts of Bangkok. Similar protests had occurred during my previous visit just under a year ago but I had narrowly missed the worst of them; they were reported by the international press around the time I was gratefully dropping my bags on the floor of my parents' place in New Zealand and I was a little stunned to see TV images of the police clashing with red-shirted protesters outside what appeared to be the hotel I had stayed in less that 24 hours previously!

This time around, the volcanic eruption in Iceland closed UK and Europe airspace for six days just prior to my scheduled departure and I watched my Qantas flight cancelled...and then miraculously reinstated. Even after I reached Heathrow, my nerves didn't settle until I had cleared passport control and boarded the flight and a little over 10 hours later I arrived at Suvarnabhumi airport, grateful to be through the first of the hurdles, but now facing the next challenge.

In the days leading up to my flight, protesters had clashed with government security forces, who were attempting to disband the impromptu protester camps. I decided to register the details of my stopover with both the New Zealand embassy and the Foreign Commonwealth Office, the first time in 20 years of travelling that I've ever felt the need to do so. I also made sure that this time I stayed at a hotel well away from the government and business districts, where the protester presence was strongest. Fortunately, my folks had visited Bangkok a few months earlier and were able to suggest the Palazzo hotel in Huai Khwang.

This seemed to be a smart move, because while I was en-route to Bangkok, the violence culminated with a series of explosions near the red-shirts enclave in the business district.

Up to 5 M-79 grenades were apparently fired from launchers some distance from Sala Daeng station, possibly from within the Red Shirt encampment or a nearby high-rise. One person was killed and more than 80 injured, but the incident seemed to galvanise both sides into stepping back from the impending disaster a little. By the time I checked into the hotel, reports had started to appear in the worldwide press about offers and negotiations and while the situation was far from resolved, this at least seemed to offer a small vestige of sanity and hope of a peaceful resolution to the issue.

Even so, I had taken note of the increased police presence at Suvarnabhumi airport; impassively-faced blue-clad officers in berets and combat boots worn commando-style, standing their posts right across the concourse. Occasionally, a pair of patrolling army officers in camouflage kit wandered in and out of view. None seemed to be carrying small arms though, which I took to be a positive sign. But as my taxi threaded it's way through the notorious Bangkok traffic, a convoy of pickup trucks full of protesters sporting red flags drove past at speed and in the distance, I could hear the wail of sirens. Not so positive...

As always, I spent the first evening orientating myself with the usual tasks of a budget-conscious tourist; stock a few beers and snacks from a nearby 7-11 in the mini-bar fridge, find a working ATM, locate the nearest MTR station etc. By 10pm I returned to the hotel, armed with all the necessaries and then went downstairs for one of the weirdest dining experiences I've ever had.

KaraJoke (some like it HOT!)

In a nearly-empty restaurant I ordered a cold Singha beer and a couple of dishes from the menu (the buffet was of course long since finished) and watched a trio of the worst Karaoke singers I've ever heard. Everything about them was terrible. They had no sense of rhythm. They couldn't hold a note. They sung off-key harmonies, out of time and in different (mismatched) octaves. They were accompanied by an enthusiastic but entirely untalented pianist on that most evil of instruments, the Hammond organ. They couldn't even read the lyrics off the screen.

It was enough to make my fillings buzz madly and the leaves of a nearby plant fall to the ground in a shower. Even the exclusively Thai staff winced as they busied themselves setting the tables for the following morning's breakfast, before legging it as fast as they could.

It was so bad it was almost entertaining.

When the two Thai dishes that I ordered arrived, I gratefully forked a piece of steaming pork into my mouth...and for a minute or more, I genuinely thought my head would explode! The dish was literally swimming in garlic and the infamous Thai red chillis. I confess to being a little bit of a "curry wimp" but I've fought my way through a phal-strength vindaloo a few times. This dish however made vindaloo seem like vanilla ice cream by comparison. Even lager couldn't kill it! Still, I struggled on, sweating profusely with every mouthful before eventually admitting defeat and at the earliest opportunity, I paid the bill and belchingly headed back to my room and a fitful nights' sleep...

A tale of TWO cities

Around 4am I awoke and couldn't get back to sleep. I propped my back against the headboard and picked up my copy of the excellent Zimbabwe memoir "The Last Resort" by Douglas Rogers and the next time I glanced at the clock it was 5:30.

Stepping out onto the balcony with a cup of instant coffee and a local-brand cigarette, I watched the sun rise over the rough rows of slightly ramshackle tenement blocks, nestled between Wisteria trees and the occasional coconut palm, with their laundry hanging over railings and their scattering of satellite dishes.

With no traffic noise and in a relatively cooler part of the day, Bangkok is quite a different place. The trees were full of birds swooping back and forth across the tenement carparks, plucking insects from the air and occasionally crapping on a gleaming Toyota pickup. One slightly scrawny speckled bird about the size of a small dove landed on the railing just 3 feet from me, cocked it's head sideways as it regarded me with it's beady bird-eyes, before taking to the sky again. By 7:30am the humidity and traffic had returned and the birds had vanished.

It's always a little strange walking around a place during the early part of commuter rush hour, especially when you are so obviously a foreigner. The strange quizzical looks you get from glum-faced commuters waiting at the bus stops all seem to ask the same question: You're a tourist on holiday...what the f*ck are you doing up and out here at this hour? Still, every now and then you catch the eye of a street vendor or a passing pedestrian and when you smile at them and they smile back, you are reminded that some things are a little bit universal. I felt encouraged...

Bangkok is very much a drivers city and although there is a pretty good public transport infrastructure, you really do take your life in your hands, anytime you want to walk anywhere. There are few pedestrian crossings and long stretches of the arterial roads are impossible to cross due to the speed of the bumper-to-bumper traffic and a shitload of concrete crash barriers. There are walkovers about every quarter of a mile, but be prepared to climb a fair few stairs. Oh, and watch out for all the motorbikes and scooters, whose riders think nothing of mounting the pavement to get around the traffic. Only two types of pedestrian exist in Bangkok; those who look in every direction, all the time and those lying on their back with tyre marks across their chests, wondering what the hell just happened.

Surprisingly in a city as geared towards shopping as Bangkok is, there seems to be a bit of a shortfall of foreign exchange kiosks and being Saturday all the banks were closed. I had to walk a couple of miles through a heavy tropical shower, to find a wizened little bloke who could do a reasonable Quid to Baht swap. Like everywhere else, Bangkok hotels all make a killing in the FX rates they supply, so it's worth the stroll to save a few bob. At least that's what I told myself when the rain stopped...

By 10am, armed with my newly converted cash and still wringing the rainwater out of my shirt, I wandered around a couple of the large malls that dot this part of the city, in search of a cheap digital camera. Not a huge range of choice in this area (although you are totally spoilt for choice if you want to buy a new mobile phone - the bloody things were everywhere!) but I found a nice compact little Canon model that did what I needed it to do and was the right price and by 11:30am I was heading to my next destination.

Open up and say Ahhhhh...

Ask most people to do a simple word-association with the word: holiday is likely to give an entertaining (and possibly revealing) result. But the one word that virtually no-one would associate with: holiday is the word: dentist. Yet Bangkok has a thriving "dental tourist" trade, encouraging scores of Europeans to have expensive dental work done in Bangkok, at a fraction of what it costs in places like Europe and the US. Earlier this year, my folks came over for just under 2 weeks, for exactly this reason and they reckoned that even factoring in the cost of flights, accommodation, taxis, food etc, it was still cheaper than having the same work done back home. Plus they got a 2-week holiday.

The Bangkok International Dental Center was conveniently located about 200 yards down the road and on a whim, I decided to slide on in and see what they could do about the years of stains on my gnashers. A full consultation, examination, full clean and a significant degree of whitening set me back around 12,000 Baht (about 270 quid) - less than half the price demanded by any half-reasonable private dentist back in Blighty. The practice was immaculate, the staff all seemed to speak pretty good English and were very friendly and helpful. My dentist was extremely professional and hygiene standards were as good if not better than any dental surgery I've set foot in, anywhere else. What's more I was able to walk in without booking weeks in advance and a couple of hours later I was back on the streets, doing my parody of the Osmond smile.

Wrong move?

After a wash and a quick snack, I decided to head over to Siam, to have a look around the night markets and duly jumped on the MTR to Asok, before switching to the Sky train out to Siam. My first inkling that this was a mistake was when I found myself herded with lots of others through steel security gates, under the gaze of two serious-looking security personnel while nearby I can hear the voice of a determined-sounding Thai gent over a fairly large tannoy. As I rounded the corner, I found myself smack in the middle of one of the major red-shirt encampments.

Oops!

Still on the station stairwell, I was able to see the T-junction below pretty clearly. In all 3 directions, as far as the eye could see, were a seething mass of red-shirts that frankly made an Arsenal-at- home match look like a village tea party. Several people glanced in my direction, realised I was just another dipshit foreigner and ignored me, returning their attention to one of a number of large overhead screens, and to the speaker making an impassioned monologue.

I cautiously headed downstairs and with a show of casual nonchalence that I didn't feel at all, strolled about 100 yards down the main road in both directions, before realising how far the encampment seemed to extend. Minutes later, as I returned to the station, the speaker completed his speech and the applause broke out. Then he began the speech again...in English.

The gist of it was that the government had refused to accept the protesters' offer to disband the protest camps in exchange for the promise of early elections.

Oh shit!

I managed to snatch a couple of short video clips and then got my non-red-shirt-chicken-tourist-ass back onto the Sky train. Less than 10 minutes after arriving back in Asok, the Sky train was closed.

Fortunately, I could still grab the MTR and around 9pm I was back in Huai Khwang, tucking onto a a mix of stir-fried scallops and jellyfish, on a bed of steamed rice with garlic, ginger and lime, at one of the many little food stalls that are all over the place. Two Singha beers later and all was right with the world again.

Part 2 follows...