The Chao Phraya: Bangkok sits on the Chao Phrayha River, opposite the former Thai capital of Thonburi. It was moved there by Rama the Great whose dynasty still rules. You know the fictionalized account of Rama IV, “King of Siam,” and his quarrels with Anna. I had a chance today to see Thonburi on a longtail boat via a khlong (canal) that arcs through the city.
There’s a perplexing array of ferries and private-hire boats that run the Chao Phraya. With a little observation, though, the system becomes legible enough. I stepped onto my boat at its southern-most stop not far from Silom Road and rode it to a stop I had identified as the Flower Market. Here, sidewalks and streetsides are crammed with flower arrangers and wholesale vendors in every direction. Garlands of marigolds and jasmine flowers were being sewn together with needle and thread. (The whole experience made me think of the pathetic flower market in Amsterdam, and how good it could be. Yes, the Dutch should come to Thailand to see how to fluoresce in flowers.) Here in Thailand, there is a good climate for flowers, cheap labor for growing them, and a ready market for selling them. Although Thais seem not to have much money, there always seems to be plenty for posies. It reminded me of an old Persian proverb: ‘If you have two pennies, spend one for the body and with the other buy hyacinths for the soul.’ Indeed, in Thailand, a large segment of the flower market seems to be for salving for the soul. All over the city are temples, shrines, and spirit houses at which people stop to pray. To them, they often bring offerings, and flowers are the most popular. Thus, around every big temple, there is a small flower market, and these small flower markets make their wholesale buys at the central market I visited today. It is one block away from the Chao Phraya, and I understand that many of the stalls are operated by people who come by boat from Thonburi on the left bank. To me, it looks like the original flower market was not along the street but on the sois (a soi is a side street) and the interiors of blocks. That space now is taken by the wholesale produce market, which is also a fascinating operation, to which everyone comes to buy their fresh fruits and vegetables in large quantities. Here’s the pattern: main streets: flowers; side streets and block interiors: fruits and vegetables. All streets: packed with people. In fact, because there are so many people, street food is available everywhere: from fruits and drinks to hot foods in kettles and on the grill. I just wish I knew the names of these palate pleasers. If labeled at all, the names are in Thai, and most of these vendors do not speak English. I discovered a way to figure out fruit names, though: go into a modern supermarket, find the same fruits, and read the English names. One of the most intriguing fruits was one I wished I knew the name of. Using my supermarket technique, I discovered it was the Vietnamese Dragon Fruit. Don’t you just love that name? It reminds me of Virginia Beach and its very own dragon – but more on that later.
From the oh-so-interesting wholesale markets I ventured into the Bangkok’s temple precinct and tourist mecca, the quarter where you find the Royal Palace and Emerald Buddha, the museums, and government offices. Very beautiful, but I feel sorry for tourists who make this their only view of Bangkok. I will go another day. But another market was flourishing outside the temple precinct: the market in Buddhist amulets, little charms whose popularity is associated with a monk whose temple is across the river.
In my attempt to find my way back home, I asked a man waiting with me to cross the street where the Metro was. Take the ferry back was his advice. But we got talking and then spent the rest of the afternoon together. He teaches sociology at a secondary school associated with one of the temples. He was a former Buddhist monk (for about 10 years, until age 22), and is still intent on practicing Buddhism, not just ritualizing it. Most Thais, he hold me, don’t really apply Buddhist teachings to their lives; they just go through the motions. Same everywhere, said I. He was quite proud of the city, especially of its over 200 temples, and suggested I go on a canal ‘cruise’ that would take me through the oldest parts of Thonburi. If I didn’t do it in the afternoon, the flood-control gates would close and the boats would not be able to get in. Did he want to go with me? Yes, he did, so off we went on a huge boat, and just for us.
The canal-side built environment is deteriorating; it’s an historical preservation project just waiting to happen. Perhaps it has already started, as a few new teak houses have sprouted up along its shore, but most of the housing is badly deteriorated. What isn’t deteriorated are the temples, of which there were too many to count and so many different styles. We stopped at a majestic and colorful one I would characterize as a “mixed-use” community center. There was a multitude of individual shrines, a troop of boy scouts sitting for lessons, a pair of crematoriums for disposing of the dead (but save a bone fragment). One boxed-body was in repose and in a pavilion next door a prayer vigil was being kept. This goes on for a few days, and then the body is cremated. There were other boats in the canal, but not as many as I expected, though I did buy a small model from one of the boat women. What my friend reveled in pointing out were the monitor lizards that lived along the canal: huge ones! It made me nostalgic for my home in Virginia Beach, where we have our own Komodo Dragon, and for my favorite Starbucks where Komodo Dragon is my favorite coffee.
The Cute Mute: Without saying a word today, I bought a small silk print showing three elephants. I usually don’t buy such things, but the man who sold it to me was a mute (and maybe deaf). He did all his bargaining with body language supplemented with pad and pencil. His cart (all kinds of silk prints) was all by itself, he had no customers, and he provided the most interesting side show of the day. Once we settled on a [too high] price, I gave him a big bill for a small purchase; he took it and ran (of course, without saying a word). He had to get change. It is the universal story in most of the world: nobody has change! I figured I had his cart as collateral. Had anyone been nearby, I would have tried to sell them something. I got my change, but was reminded of the time in Morocco when I wasn’t so lucky. That vendor knew that all he had to do was be off with my big bill and stay until the bus I was riding departed.
Geographically yours,
D.J.Z.
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