I’m back in the United States but I had some mostly written but un-posted entries left over; I’ll post them now that I have some time to put them together.
I hadn’t gotten all gung-ho about rushing out to see all the tourist sights around Bangkok both because I figured I would have plenty of time to see them and because I have a self-imposed schedule to keep up with; weekdays, I am writing or working on other projects for most of the day.
It turns out to be just as well that I waited, since I’ve gotten to go see them now with a local, which turns the whole experience into something slightly less touristy and more culturally interesting. Not that the various temples, attractions, and neighborhoods are not in themselves interesting and full of the rich history of the region, but with Monica along I get a whole other subtext laid over the experience, the inside baseball perspective on both shrines and tourists that is missing from most of the official tours.
The best bang for your buck in the sightseeing department is along the big curve of the Chao Phraya river, the Mother Water of Kings that is Bangkok’s reason for being. As a small village controlling the mouth of the main drainage basin of the kingdom, Bangkok was destined for greater things, and as they came to it over the centuries, most of them came along the course of the river.
So the Grand Palace, many important temples, historic customs houses, and ancient neighborhoods continue to dominate the narrow shores of the Chao Phraya. Modern rail transport doesn’t penetrate to those neighborhoods, but the ancient waterway still provides access to anyone daring enough to hop an express boat.
It’s a quick walk from the BTS station at Saphin Taksin to Sathon Central Pier beneath the King Taksin Bridge. Dodge a few hucksters and you can either grab a tour boat or get aboard some variety of water taxi… colorfully delineated with flags marking the route served.
The boat operators move with a purpose and in a cloud of black smoke, you’re churning water heading upriver before you know it. All around are strange and wondrous craft plying their trades–boxy ferries adorned with advertising, flashy neon cruise boats serving hotels and tourists, grimy ferries shepherding barge-trains down to the see, sleek long-tails carrying private passengers along, their helmsmen getting a workout shifting around the whole engine to steer with.
For whatever reason, one of the usual docks was out of service and instead of going directly to Wat Pho, we had to debark on the other side of the river at Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn… although, for much of modern Bangkok, it’s on the side of the sunset as the population has gradually spilled east of the river.
The temple was largely covered in scaffolding and inaccessible, but the intricate detail of the exterior was still on display.
You have to pay to enter Wat Arun and most of the other attractions, and here Monica became incensed, because I had to pay, but she, as a Thai, did not. Whether she was upset because it was a double standard or because it was an OBVIOUS double standard, I’m not sure… the distinction being, I suppose, the potential loss of face being a local representative in the company of one being ripped off when he realizes he is being ripped off.
But, in point of fact, I didn’t feel ripped off and I think the system makes perfect sense. After all, these remain holy sites for most of the local population. Yet the traffic and resulting upkeep requirements cost money. The farangs coming in are creating most of the traffic and have most of the money–it only makes sense to charge them while allowing the locals to make their venerations as they have done for generations.
I suppose this does disservice to those touring Buddhists who get hit with the charges, but it’s a simple system that seems to work.
We grabbed a ferry across to the east side again and entered the labyrinthine precincts of Wat Pho.
The status of Thai Kings as partly divine causes a blending of religious with political history, and Wat Pho was erected by Rama I, whose ashes are still enshrined there. Later kings continued to expand the temple buildings there, causing their own ashes to be entombed there, giving the place a slightly Valley of the Kings feeling, with many similar buildings erected in slightly different styles as were dictated by the era in which they were built.
The many Chinese statues around the various temple complexes come as some surprise, but show the deep influence China has had on the Kingdom down through the centuries. The story behind them, however, is even more surprising: they were brought here originally, according to various tour guides, as ballast aboard Chinese ships.
So, sometime in the earlier 1800s, a bosun’s mate in London is standing on the quay saying, “Eh, Geordie! Chuck another few bits of rock down in the hold, will you? We can still make the morning tide.”
And in Shanghai, the same day: “Jian! We are still light… run over to the honorable Master Li’s shop and commission two more statues! Let’s get a lion and a fierce warrior this time. Hurry! We should be able to sail by the next full moon!”
Which might explain why Western ships reached China first rather than vice versa.
Anyway, Wat Pho was founded as a place of education and remains as one today, teaching practitioners from around the world the arts of Thai traditional medicine and massage. Various inscriptions and illustrations around the grounds illustrate the pressure points used in the techniques.
The reputation of the temples as a center for enlightenment and education has rubbed off on the general neighborhood as well, which still includes a well-respected university.
And, continuing the blending of religion and government, Wat Pho is right next to the Grand Palace.
We had to go through a security checkpoint to get anywhere near the Grand Palace, and the streets were utterly empty by Bangkok standards.
“Take a picture,” said Monica. “You’ll never see it like this again.”
Which would be fortunate, in fact, because the reason for the security was the presence of the ashes of the late king, ensconced in the Royal Urn for his subjects to pay respect to during the one-year mourning period.
Tourist traffic has been heavily restricted and the palace hours shortened to cope with the Thai mourners. On the north side of the palace, we encountered a stream of them leaving. The lines can last three hours or more, for a brief second or two at the urn. Yet the urge is strong. Monica is waiting for a friend who is coming to town next month and will go then.
Unfortunately, this also means I didn’t ever get in to see the Grand Palace or the fabled Emerald Buddha that resides within. Another time, perhaps.
Instead, we returned to the river and crossed again to a market on the west bank. It was in the middle of shutting down for the evening but there was still food, which we ate on a plaza overlooking the stream and watched the boats going by.
The river is surprisingly narrow, but teems with boat traffic. Although not quite as chaotic as the streets of Bangkok, it would be enough to give me an ulcer if I were trying to navigate upriver in Zia.
There was a little confusion as to where to catch the ferry back downriver again, so we crossed yet again to the east bank, then had to hustle on foot because the dock we were at was not a stop for the last boat… which we would have to catch.
It turned out that Wat Arun glittered as easily at sunset as at dawn.
At night, the long upstream/downstream ferries (cross-river ferries are short and stubby) don’t have to fight for dock space as much as during the day but they do have another problem–the helmsman at the bow can’t see back to where the gangway is where the docking is happening.
So the deckhand at the stern uses whistle signals to guide them in. Between the signals and judicious use of spring lines, they are as adept at bringing the boats in at night as during the day.