Bangkok

Bangkok is many things and has many things to it. It is a city of Wats. It is a city of gold. It is a place where people in sleeveless t-shirts fall off mopeds. For all of the chaos, the eternity of Bangkok’s religious monuments are enough of a reason to be impressed. As the city develops and Bangkok aims to secure its place as a destination for crypto traders and financiers en general, the Wats find themselves increasingly overlooked by the expanding south-eastern metropolis. Wats could fill all of your days in Bangkok, and more; but after visiting all 400, you might reasonably no longer be asking ‘wat?’ but ‘why?’. If you can only visit one, I’d suggest visiting Crocodile Wat. It keeps 4 crocodiles in quite small pits, all in the name of our, not their, spirituality.

The Chao Phraya river cuts through the heart of Bangkok’s old town and it is by no means an idle body. The array of pontoons and docks are comically shabby. Some have had restaurants bolted on, few offer any explanation for how they remain above water. Almost all of them give off a stomach churning groan in response to the waves generated by the river traffic. I took this picture balanced on a sandbag, watching the dock be overwhelmed by the rising tide. Those departing the landed boat had no choice but to remove their shoes and wade to safety. It might have been fun, if I hadn’t seen a rat family frolicking in the foamy water.

The industry of marigolds. In bags, in bunting, on necklaces. Everywhere. As a person who suffers from hay fever, this was not a place I chose to linger. This flower market defied everything my economics lessons had tried to teach me. No clearly differentiatable difference between each stall, all of them brimming with bright yellow bags. Very few buyers made their way in to the market, and indeed the sellers were more interested in their phones than me. Deals were clearly being done though, thumbs don’t move that furiously for flirty WhatsApps. I glided through unacknowledged, like a ghost in a highly pollinated mausoleum for commerce.

I thought it might be fun to walk down the narrow paths of the covered market of Chinatown, in the way that people think it’s fun to do axe throwing as a central London work night out. Trying to describe the experience is difficult. But I want you to imagine a world where shops were only allowed to sell fake versions of items trending on TikTok. Think: more Stanley cups than you’ve ever seen in one place before. Imagine: Ye’s rubber shoes in every possible colour and variation. What’s so upsetting about the whole thing is you can’t turnaround and flee. Once you’re on the conveyor belt you best believe you are going to finish, rubber shoes or not.

On an otherwise nondescript road, I noticed every single pedestrian stop about halfway along, pause, turn 90 degrees, bow, and keep walking. It was routine and like clockwork. I went to investigate and took this picture. Daily adoration for what I came to discover was a Chinese temple almost 250 years old. In my own moment of respect, I didn’t take my bubble tea with me when I went inside and muttered under my breath things like: “more columns than I expected”.

What would my love letter to Bangkok read? You were immensely hot, and credit to you for being the only place I’ve ever visited where it is possible to have a sit down meal at any hour of the day or night. I wish that the Thai word for peanut was not the same as the Thai word for soy because eating soy is a delight whilst eating peanuts is a death sentence. Your pork meatballs in porridge were a surprisingly pleasant breakfast. Yes I can see that you like and appreciate flowers. All hail your masterful idolation, defined by most religious buildings per capita. Thank you Bangkok, you never let me forget that I was alive.