My last two nights in Bangkok were experiences on opposite sides of the infinite spectrum of those to be had in the City of Angels. In my mind, these two nights summed up my experiences and opinions of the crazy place I’ve called home for the last eight months.
On Friday, the girls from work took me out to see a bar run by a former Communist politician with house bands that play so-called “Thai Cock Rock.” I was looking forward to seeing a live band – especially with the promise that they didn’t play the usual blend of Thai pop rock. As the only white people in the place, everyone turned to watch as we walked in and sat down. According to Thai drinking customs, we ordered a bottle of whiskey and mixers. The bottle comes with a graduated sticker down the side – if you don’t finish your bottle, you write your name on it and get assigned a card with a number on it so that you can claim your bottle the next time you are back at the bar! It also comes with a server that hovers around your table, ready to top up your glass as soon as it drops below half full. This made it virtually impossible to gage how many drinks you’ve actually had! When the band finally took the stage, they convincingly looked like cock rockers. But unfortunately, they played the same not-so-exciting Thai pop rock that is every where else, with some extra guitar solos. The girls had a great time dancing (exciting the Thai men way more than they were aware) and I had a great time representing the Maple Leaf with my Canadian colleague, drinking way more than anyone else, and soaking it all in.
My last night was virtually the opposite. It was Loy Krathong, a festival where Thais float beautiful offerings made of banana leaves, flowers, incense, candles and money, apologizing for their sins and asking for good luck in the next year. Walking around the lake at Chatuchak Park, the city seemed so calm and beautiful. This was the beauty I first found wandering around Wat Po, but that is so easily forgotten when getting lost in a taxi and not being able to communicate, or getting out of breath walking up a flight of steps, or being constantly stared at by people in my own neighborhood. It was a perfect way to end my time there and reconciled me with the City of Angels.
In my darkest moments, I couldn’t wait to get out of Bangkok – the noisy, polluted city that I just didn’t click with. But in the end, I found myself not wanting to say goodbye… not so much to the city, but to the people I met, the immensely rewarding job I was blessed with, and moments of history in the Burma movement that I witnessed and in which I participated.
On Friday, the girls from work took me out to see a bar run by a former Communist politician with house bands that play so-called “Thai Cock Rock.” I was looking forward to seeing a live band – especially with the promise that they didn’t play the usual blend of Thai pop rock. As the only white people in the place, everyone turned to watch as we walked in and sat down. According to Thai drinking customs, we ordered a bottle of whiskey and mixers. The bottle comes with a graduated sticker down the side – if you don’t finish your bottle, you write your name on it and get assigned a card with a number on it so that you can claim your bottle the next time you are back at the bar! It also comes with a server that hovers around your table, ready to top up your glass as soon as it drops below half full. This made it virtually impossible to gage how many drinks you’ve actually had! When the band finally took the stage, they convincingly looked like cock rockers. But unfortunately, they played the same not-so-exciting Thai pop rock that is every where else, with some extra guitar solos. The girls had a great time dancing (exciting the Thai men way more than they were aware) and I had a great time representing the Maple Leaf with my Canadian colleague, drinking way more than anyone else, and soaking it all in.
My last night was virtually the opposite. It was Loy Krathong, a festival where Thais float beautiful offerings made of banana leaves, flowers, incense, candles and money, apologizing for their sins and asking for good luck in the next year. Walking around the lake at Chatuchak Park, the city seemed so calm and beautiful. This was the beauty I first found wandering around Wat Po, but that is so easily forgotten when getting lost in a taxi and not being able to communicate, or getting out of breath walking up a flight of steps, or being constantly stared at by people in my own neighborhood. It was a perfect way to end my time there and reconciled me with the City of Angels.
In my darkest moments, I couldn’t wait to get out of Bangkok – the noisy, polluted city that I just didn’t click with. But in the end, I found myself not wanting to say goodbye… not so much to the city, but to the people I met, the immensely rewarding job I was blessed with, and moments of history in the Burma movement that I witnessed and in which I participated.
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