City Of Angels
June 19, 2007 — Adrian Whelan
It has the longest name of any city in the world: Krungthep mahanakhon bowon ratanakosin mahintara ayuthaya mahadilok popnopparat ratchatani burirom udomratchaniwet mahasathan amonpiman avatansathit sakkathatitya witsanukamprasit.
The Thais call it Krungthep, the rest of us know it as Bangkok. The western name roughly translates as Village of Wild Plums, the Thai version as Great City of Angels. Neither is accurate.
I first visited Bangkok in June 1988, a brief stop on the way back to London from Hong Kong. I knew practically nothing about Thailand, and the little advice that I had received comprised mainly of laddish comments about certain bars in certain districts. I arrived wanting to see as much as I could during this three day visit, and from the moment that we stepped outside the airport terminal I was captivated by everything that was happening around us.
Outside the terminal we piled into a big and slightly battered Nissan taxi. On the dashboard was a nine inch Buddha statue, between a jar holding a few sticks of burnt incense and a laminated licence with a photograph of a guy who could have been the driver. A garland woven from tiny orchids hung from the rear view mirror, the roof panel above the drivers seat was painted with what looked like magic symbols.
With the protection of this spiritual armour we eased into the six lines of vehicles that were crammed onto the three lane highway, accompanied by the piercing whistles of the police who were losing the battle of controlling the traffic.
In front of us was a pick-up truck carrying what seemed to be twenty people in the back, most of whom were asleep. A motorbike buzzed between the lines of slow moving traffic with two women riding pillion, both sitting side-saddle. Street stalls selling weird looking fruit were everywhere.
Throughout the city cars, pick-ups and motorbikes rolled bumper to bumper, wheel to wheel, fighting for roadspace with noisy ten wheel trucks decorated with paintings of dragons on their wings and a dozen spotlights on the front. Strange squat green buses, bursting with passengers and belching clouds of thick black exhaust smoke, appeared out of narrow side streets and edged along the no-mans land between the highway and the never ending streetstalls, until turning back into the maze of ugly buildings a few blocks along.
The lanes running off the major roads showed tantalising glimpses of glittering spires in the many Wats, sandwiched between modern concrete boxes and terraces of Chinese style shophouses. A jungle of wiring connected the buildings. The heat was fierce, the volume of the city deafening.
Walking through the night market on Silom Road later that evening was my first real Thai experience. Food stalls selling everything from a bowl of noodles to deep fried locusts were mixed in with those selling T-shirts, watches, tapes and a thousand other things, all with well known labels and all stupidly cheap. Touts for the bars in nearby Patpong shoved badly translated cards into the hands of tourists cruising the market. People everywhere smiled. They smiled at each other, they smiled when I caught their eye, they smiled just because that’s what the Thais do.
During those few days I did what every tourist does; I visited a few of the major temples, took a longtail boat trip along the klongs, ate some great food, and discovered the bars of Patpong. I learnt that prik means chilli and rot tit means traffic jam. I had found a place that I knew I would see again.
Two decades on, and many visits later, Bangkok still captivates me. It has developed into one of the major cities in the regions, but has kept it’s soul. Highrise buildings dominate the skyline in the downtown sprawl, but at street level the stalls still crowd the pavements. The elevated Skytrain and a subway line have given easier options for travelling across the city, the taxis are smarter and have meters, but when it rains the streets still gridlock.
For me the magic of Bangkok is the mix of an ultra modern city and traditional culture. The Palaces and temples in the old part of the city still amaze me no matter how many times I visit. Wat Pho in particular, set in a walled compound in the heart of old Bangkok, is an oasis of peace in a frantic city, especially if you slip away from the crowds visiting the beautiful Reclining Buddha, and find a seat in a quiet corner. Sitting under the shade of a tree in one of the courtyards, people watching, it is easy to imagine how similar it would have seemed 200 years ago.
The journey from the airport into the city is now as familiar as a commute to work, but I still get the same feeling of excitement that I felt on that first visit. On reflection, the Thais are probably right to call their capital ‘The City Of Angels’.
