Market Schlepping in Bangkok

So the new "business adventure" has included doing quite a bit of research around town, sourcing genuine vintage clothing, and also looking for unique new patterns and stylishly made clothing. It has been a hot, sweaty and a sometimes disgruntling experience. 

We tracked down the internet's advice on where to go (and decided who ever wrote that crap was on crack). The worst, absolute worst experience so far has been Wang Lang Market. Now any one that has been to Bangkok and travelled around, must know it's not the easiest place to navigate, even with Iphone's internet service and google maps. Mainly it's to do with the 'lost in translation' side of things i.e: you are pronouncing the romanisation of a Thai location incorrectly; this is true 99% of the time. Actually, it's probably 100% of the time. Also hard if your Thai is shitty, like mine is. 

For us, Wang Lang was our Waterloo of "Vintage Markets". What we thought would be a relatively easy navigation turned into a very expensive affair, for butt fuck nothing rewards. It was supposed to be – take moto to train, take train to river, take boat ten stops down river, 'hey presto': market. Ha, when the hell does that ever happen in this city? 

Yes to the first two steps, BUT get to the river, and for some reason unbeknownst to us (could have been anything really as I'm totally fucking illiterate in this country) ALL of the boats were out that day (possibly due to flooding... or something else, who the fuck knows). No public boats whatsoever. And a whole bunch of grifters telling us horseshit about why there are no boats (you would recognise the type: shady, greasy, dark and manipulative - enough english to try and cajole you into doing something you don't want to do - kind of like drunk slimy sex with someone you know, but not very well, and don't really like - you feel bad afterwards). 

So out of heat frustration and total abject laziness to look any further, we take a private long tail, which is about ten times the price of what it should have been, and even though they say they are taking us to where we ask, of course the grifters are lying sacks of shit, and drop us off at another tourist site far from our desired destination. We're then walking on a crowded street, in the mid day heat, and I feel grubby. But not as grubby as it's going to get. We walk, until we decide a bus may be better, and some busses are free. Which is fine, until we get on this dilapidated fifty year old vehicle, with open windows, and flies drunk on heat, meandering through the air. The interior hasn't seen a clean and the motor a tune up since possibly the 70s, but mid 60s seems more likely. You think it's going in the direction you want, but really, it isn't. Which totally pisses you off when you want to get out, and it's the first instance I've seen where the driver wont open his doors in the middle of the road whilst stuck bumper to bumper in traffic that is going nowhere. The driver insists on driving that extra five hundred meters in the opposite direction, from the point you indicated where you would like to alight. I figure it's because I'm white, and he's a spiteful cunt. 

Get off the bus, walk some more following the blue dot on google maps (man, I love that blue dot). Find the Pier which is across the river from where we want to be. Ask someone where the boats go from, he directs us. Here is another piece of advice, take Thai directions with a grain of salt. They are quite often, always wrong (the language is too general for specification I find) . It's not that his directions were wrong for someone sitting at an information booth, it's that, why the fuck didn't he know that boats weren't going from that location either. Walk to pier, get told boats aren't ferrying foot traffic across the river that day. Walk back to street. Give up, approach expensive moto. Two moto's. They'll take us, but they don't seem to understand where it is either. Patience shortens. Fuck it. Get on and wing it. End up on a four lane toll way, with no helmet. Feel slightly insignificant and that this could be one of those moments, or THE moment. Driver pulls to the side after all the four lane traffic business is finished, and gives me a helmet for the side streets, indicating the fact there is police presence around. Because getting a ticket is worse than having a dead farang, I'm guessing. But whatever. These decisions are rather parochial on day to day basis here.

Get to market. Discover market is more thrift than vintage, when it comes to the small amount of vintage it offers. The clothes are overly pedestrian, lack any style, are grubby and make you want to shower after handling them. Shops are situated over sewer drains, subtly* covered by awkward floor boards (*not subtle at all), and they can't mask the odour of smelling like shit. The newer clothing is crappier and more expensive than sourcing the stuff from somewhere closer, like Platinum or JJ market. 

We decide the people positively reviewing this market on blogs, are totally full of shit. They make it seem so exciting and full of lost treasures... Pffffft. Don't believe the delusional hype. This market caters to idiot tourists who don't mind paying exorbitant rates for shitty clothing, or think thrift clothing badly made five years ago, is vintage. We buy two things, more out of sheer determination to not have had the whole day go to waste than anything else. 

I should mention that going to these kind of places without food, in a hypoglycaemic state is also a bad, bad idea.  It amplifies your grumpy. We grub about for an hour or maybe a bit less, become increasingly unsatisfied, with the quality we see. We decide finally after much ado about grumble, that we should leave. Taxi's ignore us, or are otherwise taken by local thai's who push into line. Fine, whatever. It's not something that I'm not used to. We approach Moto's again, just to get the hell out of Waterloo-Dodge quickly. We agree to an exorbitant rate from the moto. Be gone, is all we want. We're hot, grumpy, ill nourished, disappointed, and feel like a bath in Clorox is mandatory. An unhappy exit is compounded by the fact that the moto driver smirked when we agreed to his exorbitant rate. 

I still feel like an idiot tourist outside of my comfort zone in Bangkok. It's because I have no prior experience of spacial awareness in new locations, and cannot gauge how much distance is worth the fee and therefore cannot negotiate. 

TLDR: my twitter update of our odyssey to Wang Lang. Never Again - Some bits of Bangkok weren't made to be seen. 

Free Will

I love free will. I love living in a country where I still feel like I have the ability to exercise my own free will, i.e. I can take my life and the decisions about my body into my own free hands. I haven't returned to "developed" first world countries much since moving to South East Asia. And really only one - Canada, but I tentatively assume Canada's political, economical and legal zeitgeist are on par with somewhere like Australia or the UK, to some level of degree (America I have no idea about since they just seem kind of crazy to me, a view garnered from what I does read on the innerwebs). My generalised opinion is: There seems to be an encroaching nanny state permeating these commonwealth countries creating an apathetic populous, who are more interested in consumerism and capitalism than fighting against the man. Which is fine. It's just not really me. 

When I visit one of these "developed" nanny states, my interpretation of the legal rules they must abide by, instigates my figurative suffocation - I die a bit on the inside, while I live in fear of doing something wrong, knowing that by second nature, I probably am. I know the natural citizens are so used to the encroaching legalities dictating their everyday behaviour, that the rules have seeped into their sub consciousness and are taken for granted. Interpolating a new generation of people who, for the majority IMO, lack the ability to think for themselves. I see the pictures and read the comments online - even the sub genres of "different" look the same. 

I do find that the systematic organisation in these developed countries is somewhat refreshing in comparison to disorganised chaos (as in everyone stands to one side on the escalators - I estimate it would take a whole generation to train south east asians to do this), yet the rules on how you should live your life make me shudder.

I like Asia. It's nice. It's warm. It's cheap. It does have it's drawbacks, but overall at the moment, it wins for the quality of life. 

One of the things that at least gives me the illusion that I still have free will here, is the motorcycle taxis. Motorsai's or Motos are probably my favourite thing about Bangkok. Little gangs of predominantly guys on motorcycles, wearing orange or pink waist coats, cluster in groups along most roads, waiting to take you where your little heart desires to go. It's an easy and quick transaction. In about three words you tell them where you want to go, jump on (side saddle in my case, I really have adopted local tendencies), occasionally hold on to part of the bike for stabilisation (or if you can't be fucked like me, not), and arrive windswept at your destination very soon after.  It can also be done with mass amounts of baggage or food shopping and weirdly shaped objects. 

Depending on the amount of distance you go, they are the quickest, easiest and one of the cheapest ways to avoid the traffic in the big city. I can take a moto from the mouth of my soi to my house, and it costs me thirty Australian cents and takes about two minutes. There is no way in hell, any developed country would offer or allow a form of transportation like this. 

Some of the times I feel most alive is taking a motorcycle. Peak hour traffic Friday night, peak hour traffic in the rain, or really just in the rain - these are occasions where one will probably feel most alive. It's also I guess, when thought about properly, one of the more daring things I do, and like countries who have subjugated themselves to local rules and think of it as second nature, I too have done this, and quite often disregard the danger, taking it for granted. Yes, there is an element of danger. Yes, it is sometimes a brush with mortality. Yes there are many accidents. No, you generally wont be wearing a helmet unless travelling very far distances on main roads. And in this lies the beauty of taking a moto. 

I generally take motos in two frames of mind. The very triumphant Vs the very morose. Triumphant mood is weaving through traffic displaying the attitude of "Fuck you assholes, I'm on a moto. All you cunts have to wait two hours, while I arrive in ten minutes" - to a really bad day where I don't feel mentally well, which is more like "Fuck this world, fuck these people, you're all fucked. If I'm lucky, I will fall off the back of this moto and my head will smash like a melon" (I probably wouldn't be so lucky: I would fall, head - smashes like a melon, but I don't die; instead I create an exponential and unaffordable hospital bill, and probably become a a vegetable in the process) . Either mood will invariably involve a middle finger display and several profane expletives. 

Regardless of how I feel when I hop upon a moto, one of my favourite visions of myself exercising free will is as:

a pillion sitting helmet-less, sidesaddle and handsfree on a moto cycle taxi, traveling down Thannon Sukhumvit - Bangkok, peak hour traffic, weaving through cars, narrowly avoiding side mirrors and scratching expensive paint jobs... sparking up a Marlboro cigarette (that costs me thirteen cents). Granted, none of this image is healthy, but FUCK YEAH -gahwddamm it makes me feel free. 

Let Them Eat Cake

Personally, I think they should teach more history here. As we are doomed to repeat... yadda yadda. Although it didn't seem to work for the last credit card economic downturn, I know. Please note the financial crisis of 1929... etc. We haven't seem to have learnt a thing.

This was taken in a makeshift mall, set up across from what I like to think of as 'White Man's Stake' on Sukhumvit, The Emporium. It's rumored to be stock that has been saved from the malls which no longer exist, or suffered from a case of the fires.

You get the drift...

Things we do while living in Asia.

Yell… a lot. Preferably in your own company so you don't 'lose face'.

Drive like shit, and not apologize to anyone, because everyone drives like shit.

After about 3 months stop haggling over 30 cents… it's 30 fucking cents people, give it to them, the little people make like 6 bucks a day.

Listen to drunk people talk shit. It's probably the most decent conversation you will get in your native English language.

Love the maid. She is awesome. Luckily she is naturally acclimatized and can cook in shit hot heat. Try not to make funny faces when she cooks what smells like steaming dog turd for herself. It's probably a local delicacy in her country.

Cry… inside. Again, preferably in your own company. Asians don't deal well with the waterworks of emotions.

Avoid the heat by running the aircon day in day out, over what they call the 'summer' period. There is really only two seasons here: Hot, and Fucking Hotter. With a bit of wet chucked in. Freak out on a monthly basis when you get the unreasonably expensive electricity bill.

Lower your standard of people who you would call 'friends', otherwise you won't have any.

When a mini civil war occurs, stay inside and keep running that aircon, praying to 'the big man of your choice', that the warring parties don't burn down the local power exchange. Because you will have no cool air or webbertudes. They won't be serving food over the internet if a curfew occurs, therefore, previous flood experience is good for survivalists who can get through long periods of time being housebound. Stock up before the Asians start 'panic buying' all the 2 minute noodles, and pushing each other out of the way for cabbages. Remember to buy candles.

Get used to the fact that doing anything simple… SIMPLE, will take a day of your time.

Get more used to the fact that doing anything bureaucratic, or something a bit harder than simple, will take up to 3 days of your time, and there will be a lot of kicking and screaming involved (at home, in your own company).

Get used to being fucked over and extorted by the lawyer that your company chooses to use. Expect to pay 10 times the amount that you normally would have to, if you could speak and read the fucking language.

After trying to accomplish something simple, and kicking and screaming in frustration (in your own company), then complaining to your husband, realize that him saying 'welcome to my world', becomes an everyday occurrence. Laugh at the absurdity of the situation when something is actually accomplished.

Glow in schadenfreaude on the rare occasions you can share the frustration around.

Realise that globalisation has occurred. Buying something here in a mall will be on par with buying it in any other country worldwide. Acknowledge that there are a shit load of high end shops that you will never be able to afford to shop in, let alone the little people who make 6 dollars a day. Display wonderment at the fact that people in Asia can afford, and do shop in these places.

Get disgusted with the 'Hiso' attitude of 'Let them eat cake'. Try to avoid these people at all costs, they will make you feel like slashing your wrists, up the tracks not across. Especially avoid the vapid, vacuous, vain younger generation. They are, quite plainly, oxygen thieves.

Get disgusted with the little people holding a capital city, the main business and travel hub, hostage for over 2 and a half months. Ruining all business and taking up the amount of real estate, which is comparable if you lived in Sydney to: Lower Darlinghurst, Hyde Park, Pitt St Mall all the way down to RPA hospital. Feel slightly terrorized by their ongoing erratic behavior.

Quietly celebrate the protesters burning down the banks and stock exchange - sticking it to the man. Feel sorry for the small businesses, their brothers and sisters, who initially supported their protesting, that the people of a particular colored shirt persuasion, then burnt to the ground.

Come to terms with every bar being a business opportunity for a poor Asian chick. Embrace it, these women are quite good at english conversation, they are nice, protective of loyal customers, and rack up your pool balls for you. NB: you will never beat them at pool or Connect Four.

As a white chick, get used to the fact that if you are over 22 you will be seen as: mature, overly opinionated, mouthy, too expensive an investment with no return, and therefore not worth the effort. Relinquish any idea that you have any hope of 'getting some' in this country. Especially when it's being handed out by 18 year old Asian chicks for next to nothing, with a lot less hassle. On the odd occasion, appreciate that some dude who you are talking to, taking notice of you. Yeah... you probably won't be getting laid.

*EDIT* my husband would like me to point out here, how lucky I am to be married, and that I'm the recipient of as much 'great' sex as I desire. Which means, to me, young 18+ year old girls could come in handy for 'headache duty'.

Drink lots of water everyday. You sweat like a mother fucker in this relentless muggy, hot climate.

Enjoy the many house guests which will come through to stay, they provide light relief and entertainment. Avoid, at all costs, going shopping with them.

Get used to power cuts, brown outs, the airconditioner failing on a regular basis, no house phone because it just won't work, even when the phone company tells you it works, things taking a really long time, people always being late, bad traffic, everyone using bad traffic as an excuse for being late, computers cutting out because of the heat. Mostly get used to the fact that you probably won't be achieving much on a day to day basis. And come to terms with it. And be able to fucking laugh over it. Otherwise you will have a heart attack, stroke out, strain some muscle by kicking something, or just feel generally frustrated all the time.

Ironically, get used to the white man complaining... because they do that shit A LOT.

Again…love the maid because she is AWESOME.

Glorious Blood

Weird photo shoot that I have been wanting to do for ages. The total anti glamour shit, being disgusting and rolling around in 5 liters of pigs blood, with entrails, and miscarrying squid, chopped up fishy bits, and pork ribs, or ribs of some dead thing and watermelon, and yoghurt, and milk and baby oil... it all came strangely together.

I think I have been watching way to many Dargento and Romero films, with WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too much horror blood and guts.

After about 5 washes and 3 shampoos I was still finding bits of fish gizzards in my hair.

Dao was the best though. What other crazy arse chic would go down to the

thai food market a day before hand and start pre ordering pigs blood "5 Litre please".

Her line was consistently "I think we need more Blood Andy".

Koh Samet.

Belated Posting.

I had 2 requirements for accommodation.

1. hot water

2. own bathroom.

First night the cheapest and worst hotel - 500 baht: No hot water, no aircon, own bathroom but not connected to our room and when I went in to use it, the dankness made my skin crawl, a fan which oscillated, no top sheet but a 'blanket' and a bed like wood. 2/10 for comfort. We moved.

Second night, twice the price of the first hotel, but "half of what it was on weekends" (their maths doesn't add up): hot water - tick, half decent bed - tick, own bathroom inside - tick, television - tick, aircon - tick, bedding - mmmmmm... a fucking deluge of small biting ants which besieged our room, bed, shoes, clothes, bags - totally fantastic. We moved. I left several imprints of my tacky henna tattoo on the sheets. Whoops. 6/10 for comfort.

Third night, little huts on a secluded beach at 1500 baht a night (recommended by a friend and quite picturesque): own bathroom - yes, hot water - no, a lamp for reading - woot, aircon - no, fan which oscillates - yes, a towel like blanket - yes, a plague of mosquitos - yes, leak in the roof which dripped straight onto my head when it poured down, excellent. Winner of the lot due to Mike coming out of toilet from his morning shit with a dirty bot bot saying "I can't reach the toilet paper because there is a snake in the way". Awesome. Unscorable. Like paying $80 bucks a night to stay out at Tuntable.

It was a bit too close to a camping experience with the biting insects, the indoor reptiles, the leaky roof, the hard beds, the bad sunburn. And because I spent the first few years of my life communing with nature and living in tents - I have a policy of no camping.

By then end of the three days and waking up to a snake in the shitter, I was quite eager to pack up my shit up and get the fuck out.

Returning to my own creature comfort bedroom, with my own bathroom and a hot shower - total relief. Luxury, it's like being on holiday.

Koh Samet the Island. Quite beautiful. Prices - 'Tamada' (meaning normal/neither here nor there). Snorkeling much fun, being with friends who are as moody as I am, pretty cool. I don't recommend the oil massage on the beach, think sand paper on sunburn. It's why I could never understand the notion of copulating by the seaside. The food was surprisingly good, but we mostly ate at one restaurant, its menu spanning the cuisine of about five nationalities. Next time I would look around, and stay in a more expensive place, making sure I could get as close to my bedroom as possible.

Have formatted pics into 'comic style' sans humour, and pithiness, purely because I am lazy, and it's easier to post 13 jpgs rather than 100.