This has nothing to do with the post, except that I think it captures the spirit of Bangkok. It was campaign season when I was there and this party insists that if you don't vote against something, this monkey will kick your ass.
Hookers patrol next to ornate ancient temples and well-suited businessmen walk by sex tourists who refuse to wear sleeves, and British gap-year-students-gone-wild shuttle between fast-food joints and ping pong shows, emerging from the latter with no more money for Big Macs.
"Hey you! Where you go?" yell the tuk-tuk divers, ready with a price triple the going rate.*
"Ping pong show? Lady show, ladyboy? Hashish, opium?" the touts leer.
One middle-aged Thai man actually thanked me for the Vietnam War. He thought Thailand would be communist without it. Now that was a first.
But two blocks off the tourist apocalypse that is Khao San Road, with its badly behaved westerners and enabling thriving food markets set up every evening with carts hawking everything from spicy minced pork, to spring rolls, to intestines, to crickets (great crunchy beer snack). It rivals India for food and like India, it's tough to spend more than $3 for a feast.
I'm in Bangkok waiting on my Burma visa and I get in at the perfect time to get stuck - Thursday after the embassy has closed. With a three-business-day wait and the embassy closed for the weekend, it means six days in the city. So I do what comes naturally and start eating my way through the city.
Fortunately I have a good guide, as a chef I had met on the trail in Nepal happens to be in Bangkok and I follow him around for three nights to spots he has meticulously researched and that I never would have found. We eat spicy liver strips, papaya salad, crunchy lemony tripe (the first I've ever enjoyed), fishball soup, ground pork with basil, and plenty of spicy, coconut curries.
Food odyssey over, it is time to head to the embassy. The Burmese clerk is so friendly to me, I think for sure I have been approved. He looks through the passports, holds mine up with a smile.
"Is this you Mr. Druzin?"
"Yes sir."
"OK, please wait here for just a moment."
He comes back, hands me back my $30 and my passport, and still very genial, says, "I'm sorry, sir, we are not able to issue you a visa to Myanmar at this time."
Apparently the military junta has discovered Google. Journalists not welcome.
Since I'm not looking for a lady show, ladyboy, or even ladyfingers, I get the hell out of Bangkok and head north to Laos.
*I think I've mentioned before, but tuk-tuks are basically scooters pulling a wagon with benches for passengers. Their drivers are consistently the least honest people in any Asian country.
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