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I was remiss in my last post, as I should have mentioned the Italian chef I met at my guesthouse my second day in, as he serves as an excellent illustration of the manner of eccentricity you can encounter on Khao San road. I passed by his open door on my way to my own room. Looking inside, I saw a shirtless man, about 50, snoring on his bed and looking quite pickled. My passing must have woke him, as he struck up a conversation as soon as I entered my room. This may seem confusing; a conversation conducted across two separate guesthouse rooms? But, like many of the hovels in Khao San road, the walls between rooms don’t meet the ceiling. Instead, a portion between the wall and ceiling is screened off, allowing sound and light to travel between rooms.

This also allowed the pickled Italian to conduct a one-sided conversation with me, while I lied on my bed in a futile attempt at a nap. Through his barely intelligible English, I learned that he was a chef, had worked in an astounding number of locations, and was biding his time in Khao San until his next gig. He also stated with some passion that he didn’t agree with the exploitation of Thai “darlings”. An admirable conviction I thought. At this point I didn’t know that the Italian chef (I’ll call him I-chef from here on in as we never got around to names) was also a dedicated drunk.

But he soon faded and so did I. And when I awoke I found Jon lurking in the guesthouse. An awkward hand-shake almost hug later, we set out for a night out together on Khao San. As always, it was much more fun to observe the buffoonery with a good mate than alone, and I enjoyed Jon’s cutting commentary. We toured Khao San road at night, lit up by neon signs, bisected by grimy alleys, and crowded with multiple nationalities. Bars consisting only of lawn chairs and coolers of beer had set up on the streetside.

Needing a break from the mayhem, we decided to try out an improbable late-night fish massage. A fish massage is a simple tank full of smallish fish. For whatever reason, the fish inside are ravenous for dead skin and will swarm any feet put inside the tank. It’s supposed to soften feet skin, and perhaps for some people it produces a pleasant sensation. For me, it took all my willpower to keep my feet still and not yank them out of the water as fast as humanly possible. You could literally feel hundreds of little mouths gingerly munching away. Eventually you do get accustomed to the feeling and relaxation does set in. And I have to admit, my feet were quite soft in the end.

I wish that was the highlight of the night. Unfortunately it wasn’t. Upon returning to our guesthouse, Jon discovered that he had failed to lock his room properly. A mistake anyone can make, but it was a costly error. Some unscrupulous lout must have passed by his room and noticed the error, as Jon’s iPod and Rollei camera had been stolen.

After a careful search, we were eventually forced to admit that the items were long gone, so we decided to hit the sack. This wasn’t the end of the night, as a few hours later I-chef stumbled into his room completely hammered. It was his unabashed weeping that woke me up. But it was his periodic cries of “Why!” that kept me up. Eventually he did pass out. But his light was left turned on, illuminating my room and leaving me seething in my bed. I had no idea what had upset him, but I gathered it had something to do with a darling.

The next morning I found I-chef passed out, snoring on his bed with his room door open. Upon returning I found him up and about. He seemed a little sheepish about last night’s behaviour. In a childishly eager manner, he offered me pepsi from the giant jug he was drinking, almost as a peace offering. I declined. I also declined his many repeated offers throughout the following two days. At each refusal he looked absolutely crushed.

Seeking a change of pace from Khao San, Jon and I decided to check out MBK center mall. Bangkok’s reputation as a shopping mecca is partly due to places like MBK. A giant complex of a mall, it was packed with a mixture of full-size brand stores and ultra-tiny stalls. Many Thais shopped there, but I also noticed a very large number of expats with their young children in tow.

At the time, MBK was adjacent to one of the Red Shirt rally sites. A demographic largely originating from the North of Thailand, the Red Shirts had set up camp in several central areas of Bangkok, essentially shutting down much of the commercial district. Since we were so close to the site and we saw normal Thais walking by completely unperturbed, Jon and I decided to check out the site.

To get there we had to pass through large tire barricades adorned with bamboo stakes. The rally site followed a portion of Bangkok’s Skytrain, and hundreds of protesters had set up camp underneath the rail line, using the concrete as a form of shelter. Food and first-aid stations were set up at regular intervals along the line, and many of the protesters were sprawled out asleep in their temporary homes. It was very well organized and administered.

Some Thais would beckon to us and point out a particularly well made sign or poster or slogan, but for the most part the protesters completely ignored us. After a while we eventually made it to a main stage, where a large red banner stated, “Protesters Not Terrorists!” in English. The use of English in the predominant banners was a telling sign of the protesters’ hope to garner foreign sympathy. The stage was a venue for a succession of speeches interspersed with dances and performances. The atmosphere was more passionate than angry. I’m sure things were much different at Lumpini park, where the hard-line protesters had holed up with weapons and constructed a formidable barricade. But here, most of the people were middle-aged or older, and I got the impression that these protesters were genuine in their professions of non-violence and legitimate peaceful protest, unlike their cadres in Lumpini park.

In any event, after a good stroll through the rally site, Jon and I returned to MBK for a good-ol Hollywood film. Both of us were looking forward to having to stand for the Thai national anthem, which plays before every movie. Accompanying the anthem were images and videos of the king touring the countryside. I couldn’t help but notice the irony of having just come from the Red Shirt rally site, whose protesters would most likely openly criticize the royalty if not for Thailand’s draconian lèse majesté laws.

We capped off the night with a visit to Lumpini market, which in normal times is a bustling venue bursting with tourists. However, the Red Shirt protests had stifled all business, and Jon and I were almost the only customers in the entire place. It was depressing and I felt bad for the store owners whose livelihood had been put on hold.

A big day out called for an early night in. Jon left for the ancient capital the next day, but I stayed for one more day as I desperately wanted to see a Muay Thai match at ringside. For the interests of brevity (as this post is ballooning), I’ll quickly summarize: Muay Thai matches are awesome! At each kick, elbow, knee, or punch the Thai crowd ooohs and awwws as loud as they can. In the corners of each fighter, his family screams encouragement and advice, while Thais in the background furiously bet and yell at each development in the fight. It was very easy to get caught up in all the excitement, and I found myself picking a fighter to cheer for and screaming like a local.

That night I packed it in early. I had an eventful time in Bangkok and I was beat. Plus, I planned to head out early for Kanchanaburi (site of the Bridge over River Kwai). So at 10:30, I nuzzled into my bed, looking forward to a proper rest. At 5 am I awoke to light streaming in my room and I-chef talking loudly to a darling he procured from God-knows-where. At first I feared the worst, but then I realized that he had only returned with her because he owed her some additional money. After a protracted pleading session on getting her to stay longer, I-chef finally relented and allowed the darling to make her exit. Relieved that it was over, I waited for him to flick out the light. I waited in vain, as he had already passed out with the light on again.

Red Shirt barricade

Main stage with the English banners

Red Shirt woman looking down at the rally

Red Shirt protester jubilantly supporting the speech

Listening to the speech

Ceremonial dance before the fight begins

Kicking ass at Muay Thai

Celebrating a win. Celebrations were actually quite muted.

Fighter's family watching their relative's progress

Expert martial artist and some Thai dude

Look at that goose egg!

They start them really young in Muay Thai

Bangkok traffic