View from the Golden Mountain
Suddenly the young monk notices me
A young monk poses for another photographer
 
A young monk poses for another photographer
Jim Thompson's traditional thai teak house
Jim Thompson's traditional thai teak house
The living room
 
Dining room window
|
When I exit the palace, I manage to avoid crazy proposals by tuk-tuks and take a taxi to continue my touristic visit, heading towards the golden mountain (Wat Saket) in the city center. It is a temple built on an artificial hill. I enter by a side street and an auxiliary temple where a monk is playing guitar, and head up the hill. At the bottom of the temple, I can already see the town and tall buildings emerging from above the trees. Having taken my shoes off, I watch monks taking pictures of one another, and follow them up to the top of the temple where the view is better. Only the youngest one of them sees me as I take a picture of him, and I then have a look at the city to enhance my sense of direction. With the concrete's grey color, pollution and clouds, the city doesn't shine much, despite the golden temples. It is a disorganised and unesthetic mess, but I still like the city like I did Jakarta. Once again on the move, I take another taxi going east to the house of Jim Thompson. This famous place is a national museum since the mysterious disappearing of the rich American who had built this house in teak wood from several Thai houses, and decorated it with magnificent objects and paintings from the region. I immediately know why it was so recommended to me: the garden is a beauty, the buildings are charming and in good taste. I wait for a guided tour to begin un French, and follow the guide inside the sumptuous parts of the residence. The style respects Thai architecture whilst incorporating elements of modern comfort. The statues date back several centuries and are well presented - each room has its balance. Having thought that I wasn't allowed to take pictures of the Buddhas, I keep on taking some of the inside until the guide tells me it's forbiddent. I feel guilty but have been able to take photos in good faith, to capture some of this sophisticated environment. The visit is interesting and full of anecdotes on the owner, the construction and the Thai architectural rules, all spoken in rather good French. After going around the gardent and the smaller buildings, I'm about to leave when the guide tells me one of her colleagues would like my e-mail address. She shows her to me from a distance, but I can't distinguish any girl between all of those guides waiting for tourists. She invites me to sit down amongst all the ladies who immediately begin to chatter in all of Babel's languages. I answer the questions like back in the Jakarta days where they came from everywhere, and amuse the guide by correctly guessing all the ages except hers. She asks the obvious "do you have a girlfriend?". All of this is quite amusing, but quite pointless after a while even if some girls are more interesting than others, and less shy. The one who wanted my address steps forward, young and clumsy. She hardly speaks to me - I wonder how many e-mails I will receive asking me to help her with French and more if I like. I manage to get away after a while, always happy to have a chat but not wanting to stick around to long. I'm right in the timeline I had vaguely planned for the day, and exactly at the terminal of the skytrain line that can bring me back to Michel's place, so I make a detour to see the canal along the house and check my e-mails for free in a shop where the owner has a good commercial sense. I then head back with the train, before strolling down a large avenue looking for the small street back. Some drops start falling - a father covers his girl's head with his briefcase - I feel the rain will fall in a strong and short outbreak. When this happens, I have turned around and begun to cut through an alley, arriving quite wet at Michel's place, but delighted by the day and the dark view of the city. When Michel comes home later, we head out again into the city by night. We are heading for a small restaurant along a main street and the railroad, but where nice chickens are roasting on top of charcoal. This good address enables me to taste the green papaya salad, a local beer, and the excellent chicken somewhat later. Michel tells me the stories of this neighbourhood where he was staying when he came to Thailand. As often, the waitresses are kind, smile and are amused by our original manners, such as when Michel gets up to see someone else's dish and point out he wants the same. We walk down a neighbouring night market - I am completely surprised by a big elephant coming down the street towards me. There's Thailand jumping in my face when I had forgotten I was abroad. When Michel stops to choose cheap ties, the Indian seller shows his commercial talent, carefully choosing his arguments and not too pushy. We then cross over to a big shop so Michel can make some small purchases. The prices are stunning and go to say how cheap it is to make products in Asia, and how many intermediaries and margins there are to Europe. Also, the shop is open until midnight, which is so convenient one could almost forget has easy it is to live here compared to elsewhere. That's no help to me as I'm falling asleep, but I find some things I needed and we are not long in heading back by bus. Depending on the itinerary and the traffic, Michel knows how to choose the means of transport, and I try to learn as well.
|
Bangkok 