Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [61]
Even if the climate were conducive to being on foot, shopping touts pester visitors on any sidewalk near tourist attractions, a nuisance we encounter at least a dozen times. It’s always the same routine, developed originally by drivers of tuk-tuks, the open-air, three-wheel vehicles that used to greatly outnumber taxis. “Hi! You look like you’re from America, such a wonderful place. If you’re going to the Grand Palace”—or wherever you seem to be headed—“it’s closed right now,” an outright lie. “Before it reopens, let me take you to a special shop that has the best bargains in Bangkok.” Thais think tourists are obsessed with buying stuff, making them fair prey for scams to get commissions on sales. Usually the touts pretend to be someone you want to know, perhaps an off-duty policeman or a student leaving shortly to attend college in your country. In one case a “nurse” at a hospital we’re passing, in search of a restaurant, tells us all the hundreds of stores in Siam Square are shut except one where she can obtain big discounts for us. The charade gets so tiresome that when strangers approach us to chat, certainly a pleasure in most places, Bill makes it clear early that shopping of any kind doesn’t interest us. “Better to appear cheap than be conned,” he says.
The frequent downpours and the tribulations of walking limit our sightseeing, but despite Bill’s street-side protests, we actually spend a fair bit of time browsing. Many of the most popular places in the city—such as the beautiful temples, the bustling Chinatown, and the Grand Palace, where King Rama I established Bangkok in 1782—retain us only briefly because we saw them when we visited before. Several of the major markets, on the other hand, have opened or grown in prominence since our previous visit, providing the chance for fresh experiences.
The big Aw Taw Kaw food market, the most appealing of the possibilities for us, is unfortunately closed in large part for a renovation project scheduled to take months. Smaller food markets remain active, of course, in other areas of the city. In one off of Yaowarat Road, Chinatown’s main thoroughfare, stalls near the entrance feature pork rinds, more varieties than we ever imagined on earth, in pillow-size sacks hanging from the rafters and piled like sandbags beside booths. Other stands display live crabs ranging from the size of a quarter to a foot across, live chickens and roasted ones, steamed buns alongside brioche, pickled vegetables next to pomegranates, giant cauldrons of unidentifiable cooked foods, more intestines than we want to know about, even cotton candy on sticks that a vendor holds so high above the throngs that the pink orbs look like balloons.
The Chatuchak Weekend Market, near Aw Taw Kaw, also offers some edible goods on a lot larger than many small towns, with whole neighborhoods of narrow aisles devoted to particular kinds of merchandise, from Buddha images to books, pets, and plants. In an antiques section, Cheryl spots a case of petite carved-bone bottles. “Come look at these,” she calls to Bill. “Maybe they’re old perfume containers, or something like that, but catch the erotic etchings on them, barely noticeable unless you look closely.” Bill sorts through the collection to find the most lascivious image and buys the bottle, our only purchase in several hours of wandering through the thick crowds.
The Suan Lum and Patpong night markets