One night only? Suits me fine
ONE night in Bangkok was playing in my head 10 minutes after my arrival in Bangkok. A few hours later, I’d decided that one night there was indeed enough. It certainly is a vibrant place, make no mistake, but after numerous invitations to watch the machinations of ping-pong balls in sleazy side bars, it put me off table tennis for life.
Prior to the constant heckling, my wife and I had spent the day sightseeing and our first visit was to Wat Pho, the Temple of the Reclining Buddha. We got into a tuk-tuk and endured a stomach-curdling race down the main road. Perhaps our driver had aspirations as an airline pilot for he seemed intent on lifting the front wheel of the vehicle at every opportunity. He thought it was very funny. We did not.
When we arrived at the temple, it appeared to be closed for the day and we were immediately approached by a local who explained that it was a public holiday. But, he said, he would hail another tuk-tuk for us to take us to another temple he recommended. What a nice guy! He had hardly spoken when one of those noisy things screeched to a stop. What followed was — it seemed to us — a substantial reduction on the price the driver was hoping to charge for the excursion. How nice!
After a while I realised we were heading in the wrong direction, so I asked him where we were going. He said he was taking us on a free tour and that our first stop was a fantastic shopping mall. I realised right then that we were caught in one of those elaborate scams I should have read about in the Lonely Planet guide. Then I thought, “What the hell, it’s too late now, let’s see what happens.”
We came to a stop at the dingiest mall I’ve ever seen and were escorted into a dark cave of a tourist trap. Salesmen came after us like sharks around a couple of seals, trying to sell us knick-knacks that were ludicrously overpriced.
“Baht! Baht!” they cried. “Yes,” I replied, “Baht Simpson, I like him too!” They gave up eventually. “Temple?” “Yes!” said the driver. Then we found ourselves outside a tailor. “It’s 40 degrees in the shade, what the hell do I need a suit for? And I’m on holiday!” “Please,” begged the driver. I said, “Fine, on one condition, that you tell me what’s in it for you.” It turns out that they have an arrangement with these “establishments” and that for every tourist he procures, he receives a petrol voucher in return.
So we went into the tailor’s, where about 20 other tourists were having their pockets fleeced, buying suits they really didn’t want. I wasn’t going to be one of them but was harassed so much that I almost wanted to get a suit, just to make it stop. When we tried to leave, the owner blocked my way, becoming quite aggressive. Well, I told him what I thought, and not too eloquently.
Relieved that we had escaped that dreadful scene, I looked forward to the elusive temple. Just as we climbed into the tuk-tuk, my wife realised she’d forgotten her handbag inside.
That I didn’t divorce her on the spot is testament to the enduring love I have for her. I went back inside to fetch her handbag and was stopped by the gentleman I’d just had the altercation with. “You can’t come in!” he said. “I must,” I replied. “I’ve changed my mind. I really do want a suit.” His eyes lit up; mine were focused on the handbag on the chair. I grabbed it and ran. The tuktuk was already moving when I jumped in. And at last we got to see that temple. —© Karl Eriksen
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I think I am about to do my best business of the day