Sat 13 July : Sydney to Bangkok
Even after a number of large trips over the past few years, I am still a very disorganised traveller and leave all of my packing until the night before departing Sydney, getting a minimum of sleep. The flight from Sydney to Bangkok is quite pleasant and undramatic.
A smooth late-night taxi ride takes me to The Royal Hotel in the historical Banglamphu district of Bangkok. Having settled in, I head out into the bustling city. This is my first time in Asia and the smells, sounds and colours are thrilling to the senses. My night time wander takes me along the Khao San Road, originally a quiet street, made famous years ago by "The Lonely Planet" guidebook, it is now a teeming mass of humanity with a United Nations of young people eating and drinking in cafes and bars. Having dined on some very spicy Pad Thai noodles, I am glad to be able to return to the relative peace and quiet of my hotel room for some much-needed rest.
Sun 14 July : Bangkok - Temples and palaces
A sunny and humid Sunday morning finds lots of Bangkok locals out paying homage at the many beautiful temples in the old part of the city. At the "City Pillar" there are many people making offerings of food, drink and wrapping multi-coloured ribbons on various shrines. I visit the temple of Wat Pho which is famed for its massive statue of the "Reclining Buddha at his entrance to Nirvana (heaven)". This temple complex also houses the ashes of a number of Rama kings under massive chedi (pagodas). There are many orange-clad monks holding Sunday-school classes in the shade for throngs of uniformed children.
A short ferry dash across the busy Chao Phraya river delivers me to the magnificent temple of Wat Arun. This fantastic edifice is decorated (according to my guide book) with broken porcelain which was used as ballast on Chinese ships trading on the river. The air is also filled with the tinkling of the many bells attached to the walls. Back on city side of the river the noisy and throbbing markets are stilled as if by magic when the Royal Hymn rings out across the streets at 6 o'clock. The royal flags are lowered for the night and when the music ceases life resumes as if the pause button is released.
Back in the Royal Hotel a young couple pose under an arch as guests gather to celebrate their wedding. They happily post for this tourist, while her Navy Captain father bemoans the expense of catering for the 500 guests!! My own repast later in the Mile High Cafe features a beautiful-looking steamed fish encrusted in something green and red. The "something" turns out to be a generous layer of chillies of a thermonuclear spiciness drizzled in what must have been Nitric Acid. The waiter notices with some concern the reddening of my features which follows the first mouthful and helpfully scrapes off the chillies before I do any further damage to myself. I tread more cautiously on the culinary trail over the remainder of my stay.
Mon 15 July : Bangkok - Traffic, teak, rain
I need to get to the other end of town today in order to visit a travel agent and make changes to my airline tickets; Bangkok traffic seems just as snarled up as the guide book had suggested. To avoid this I catch the Chao Phraya River Express ferry which zips along the water highway, barely slowing down at "Thas" (wharves) long enough for passengers to jump on and off (This is quite a contrast to the genteel ways of the Sydney Harbour ferries which I am used to). At "Tha Sathorn", the ferry links in with the "BTS Skytrain" which glides serenely along elevated rails above the noisy and smoky snarl of traffic on the busy streets of the business district. On another bright sunny day, many locals shelter beneath the shade of bright umbrellas as they saunter along.
My trip to the travel agent descends into a frustrating and expensive encounter with the bureaucracy of airlines. The only consolation is the stunning vistas available from their office on the 23rd floor. I later visit "Jim Thompson's House" which is a charming assembly of traditional teak housed which was put together by the eponymous American silk exporter in the 1950s. Mr. Thompson disappeared on a silk buying trip in 1967 which added to the mystique of his house and his still-thriving business. The tour is regularly punctuated by the roar of ferry boats speeding along the klong (canal) beside the house. By the time I leave the Thompson house, the heavens have opened in a late afternoon downpour which is apparently typical of the beginning of the monsoon season. I am ill-prepared for such drenching experience, and I note with envy that those umbrellas used as parasols earlier in the day now prove similarly useful in their more conventional role.
Tues 16 July : Bangkok - Palaces, temples, more teak, Kick Boxing, Patpong
Another day, more splendour! I visit the Grand Palace and temple of Wat Phra Kaew which is resplendent in gold and all the colours of the rainbow. The central temple here is home the small "Emerald Buddha" which is one of the most revered icons in the land. Tourists and locals alike observe the respectful custom of keeping ones shoeless feet pointed away from the Buddha while paying ones respects.
A white-knuckle ride in a Tuk-Tuk (three wheel motorcycle taxi) takes me to the temple of Wat Saket which is referred to as the "Golden Mount" and gives fine views across the palatial, the poor and the modern rooftops of the city. Next stop is the Vimanmek Teak Mansion which is a beautiful wooden edifice, sometimes home to the royal family and filled with generations of royal paraphernalia.
The first few days in the city have focussed on noble buildings associated
with history, nobility and religion. In stark contrast I go this evening to a
"Muay Thai" (Thai Kick boxing) event which teems with life of the
common people. My slow-crawling taxi is intercepted at arrival at Lumphini
Stadium by an agent who wants to steer me into one of the expensive ringside
seats. I protest that I would prefer to stand with the locals in the cheaper
second or third class seats; the agent retorts that I might find this
uncomfortable and intense as the regular attendees really take the event
seriously. Eventually I succumb to this logic and a reduction in the ringside
price.
The action within the ring is thrilling; each bout starts with the fighters
dressed in traditional costume going through warm up and prayer rituals around
the ring, as traditional music throbs across the steamy stadium. After the
traditional robes and garlands are removed, the fight begins with a ferocity
previously unknown to this spectator. The Muay Thai code allows all parts of
the body to be used in attack with especial accord being given to the use of
the feet. Each kick to the torso or head of an opponent is greeted with a
fervent cheer from the local fans.
Bouts last for 6 rounds of three minutes each. The baying of the crowd grows
more intense as the bouts move into the later rounds and a complex sequence of
waving hand signals seems to trade bets and odds back and forth across the
floor. There is a stark contrast between the quiet rows of foreigners seated by
the ring and the intensity among the locals; I must concede that the ticket
seller was correct in advising that I might find the second and third class
areas a bit intense. Bout number five is the main event of the evening and is
keenly anticipated by all. Round one is fairly evening between the red and blue
corners, as the second round begins I turn my gaze to the crowd whose noisy,
animated actions are almost as interesting as the head-kicking within the ring.
And then in a flash it is all over!!! As I return my gaze to the ring the
blue-clad fighter lies prone upon the canvas while the red-clad victor is
already celebrating. The arrival of a stretcher indicates the lethal nature of
the lightning kick as the loser is carried away unconscious.
The final bout of the evening is a conventional "International" style
boxing match which seems awfully pedestrian compared to the music, noise and
ferocity of the Muay Thai fights.
Despite all the temples, palaces and local colour, for many people worldwide, mention of the word "Bangkok" immediately makes them think of a sordid world of sex shows and prostitution. After the evening of boxing I wander to the nearby "Patpong" district which is one of the hubs of this local sex industry. As a single male walking up and down these streets, I am endlessly assailed by touts with printed lists of the various "Ping pong shows" and other contortions to be seen behind the curtained doors on all sides. The streets themselves are also packed night markets with endless stalls setting fake Rolex’s, Nike's and other brands to eager hordes of foreigners who seem happy to lap it all up. It all seems vaguely sad and surreal to me, and I am glad to leave it all behind as I return to the cocoon of my hotel room in poor but sane Banglamphu.
Wed 17 July : Bangkok - Chinatown Market, Traditional Dance Show
I spend much of the day walking through the very colourful markets in
Chinatown, a journey regularly punctuated by random temples encountered along
the way. Towards the end of the trail the markets are dominated by Indian cloth
sellers with huge bolts of shiny fabrics in a wide spectrum of colours and
textures. The vendors can be seen measuring out lengths of luxuriant silks that
one can imagine the predominantly female customers transforming into exotic saris
and gowns.
The Lonely Planet guidebook makes mention of a Sikh temple near this end of the
market. It takes a lot of searching to find this at the end of a narrow alley. A
semi-lingual instruction from the security guard indicates that I should remove
my shoes, cover my head with a proffered orange cloth and take the lift to the
fourth floor. This last instruction seems very strange when one is used to the
generally ancient traditions of the Buddhist temples I have visited in previous
days. And what a wonder awaits when the elevator doors open on the fourth
floor, before me is a vast and empty hall with a beautiful altar towards the
far end. As is walk into this room my toes sink into the softest carpet they
have ever encountered. As I sit at a respectful distance with my feet carefully
pointed away from the altar, I notice a number of worshippers in clusters
around the hall, them men being extravagantly bearded and turbaned in a fashion
that would easily lead one to believe that they were in a remote corner of the
Indian subcontinent. It is a peaceful place to contemplate before rejoining the
throng of commerce outside.
This evening's entertainment is a very entertaining traditional Khon dance show and dinner at the Silom Village complex. This entertainment is packaged specifically for tourists and the traditional food is apparently toned down for farang ( foreigner) palates. Nonetheless, it is a very pleasant evening of entertainment. I am seated beside a multinational tour group and their local guide Kaew (pronounced 'Gowe') who make for very interesting company. The costumes of the dancers are very beautiful and the choreography is quite stunning. Kaew explains the story behind many of the dances which enhances the cultural experience a lot. After the show, Kaew guides me through the local bus system back to my hotel, something which I had not attempted before, despite the reassurances of the guide book that the bus system was easy to navigate. I guess that there is no substitute for local knowledge.
Thu 18 July : Bangkok - Countryside river market, the tallest temple, flying away
Kaew, the guide from the dance show has kindly volunteered to show me around
some of the countryside outside Bangkok today. Her cousin/friend
"Howe" has taken the afternoon off work to do the driving and we are
also joined by another friend Pattaya and her young daughter. Our travels take
us way out into the countryside to a riverside market on the banks of the Chao
Phraya River about 60 km upriver from the city. We sit in a floating restaurant
eating spicy local food while a silent pump bathes the roof above in river
water as an elegant air conditioning system. On the river itself, boats glide
past while vast rafts of emerald riverweed float gently downstream. Enormous
and lazy fish gulp on the scraps of food thrown by diners and spectators.
It is interesting to walk through the market itself with a local. We are
offered samples of all manner of exotic fruits and sweets. I am particularly
taken with the "Mangosteen" a fruit that looks vaguely like a dull
purple plum, removing the thick skin reveals a cluster of soft white flesh that
looks vaguely like garlic cloves but tastes of a delicate sweetness that lingers
long in the memory.
From the market we proceed further into the countryside to the temple of Phra Pathom which features, at 127 metres, the tallest Buddhist monument in the world. The towering chedi houses a bone relic of the Buddha and looks beautifully golden, but the downpour that has engulfed the countryside does limit our admiration to a brief dash through the rain to pay homage at some of the shrines inside.
On the drive back to Bangkok we stop for coffee at a roadside stop favoured by my hosts. I am struck by the fact that there is something unusual about the elegant young woman who serves us our drinks. I am amazed when the girls later inform me that this is a "Lady-boy" who would have started life as a male and would have taken whatever steps were necessary to become a woman; I knew that this happened a lot in Thailand but I didn't expect to encounter it in such an everyday location. Amazing.
Kaew and Gow deliver me to the airport from where I fly off to London. My stay in Bangkok has been wonderful, and after the final day in particular I am somewhat gloomy to be heading away.
Fri 19 July - Mon 22 July : England
The QANTAS flight from Bangkok to London is uneventful even though I suffer greatly from sore knees and thighs when sitting for twelve hours in a small economy class seat. This precludes any possibility of sleeping no matter how tired I might be. Arriving at Heathrow airport has always got its own peculiar excitement for me. As one strolls the baggage halls and concourses along with exotic looking travellers from numerous other destinations, one get a great sense of this being the crossroads of the world. This impression persists as I ride the early-morning tube on the long ride into the city with the United Nations of commuters bearing testimony to London being a veritable Mecca of commerce and culture for half of the world. At the same time the rigours of this simple commute possibly explains why many of these immigrants are happy to return home to more relaxed surroundings after a few year of frantic London living.
My journey takes me to the northern suburb of Kilburn where I am glad to relax in the apartment of Irish school friend Darragh O'Grady. A few bowls of sweet Kellogg's Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes followed by a steaming hot shower help to make me feel human again after the rigours of the long flight. Having thus rejoined the human race, I head off into the city for lunch and chat with another Irish friend Fiona.
Later I play archetypal tourist and visit the historic Tower of London along with the other camera-toting hordes of Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Japanese, Germans, etc. etc. Even with the masses wandering within its walls and the silliness of the jokes from the Beefeater guiding us around, it is a very interesting place. Our gaily attired guide seems to delight in recounting the gory details of the more interesting incarcerations and beheadings of traitors and innocents that took place here over the centuries. A vault deep within one of the buildings houses the glittering Crown Jewels which look pretty flash. Like many other visitors I fantasise about how one could sneak a modest little crown or sceptre out of here, but the thick walls, solid steel doors and bombproof glass suggest that we wouldn't get very far.
I then spend Saturday and Sunday sailing on The Solent with school friend Darragh O'Grady in his new boat "Shinay" along with a variety of his friends who are all as thrilled as I am to spend summer days whizzing along on the breeze while keeled over at gravity-defying angles to the vertical. The Solent is an exceptionally busy stretch of water between the Isle of Wight and the mainland, thronged with sailing locals, sailing weekenders from London, lumbering ferries, gargantuan oil tankers, rumbling hovercraft, screaming jet skis and other Unidentified Floating Objects . One needs to be very alert when trying to steer a relaxed course through this throng. but I have great faith in Darragh and his knowledge of all the protocols regarding who give way to who if heading towards collision; apparently our 36 foot sailing boat has to give way to the oil super tankers!
At lunchtime we drop anchor in a pretty and sheltered cove where we stretch out on deck to soak up the sun's rays. One of the crew, John Murga, is determined to get to shore and set his feet on the sand of the Isle of Wight; he goes to great effort to assemble and inflate the old inflatable dinghy. It is very funny to watch him turn in endless circles in the water as he tries to master the mis-matched oars on the tiny little dinghy. Eventually he does start to make slow progress in a moderately straight line across the 200 metres of water towards the beach. We are somewhat surprised to see him turn around when he is about 5 metres from the empty and golden beach and row slowly back towards the sailboat. Getting back within hailing distance after 25 minutes of hard work our intrepid adventurer reports that the beach was festooned with numerous signs attesting to it being "Private Property" and outlining the hefty penalties for violation; I wonder how Columbus would have responded to finding similar sign when first he arrived in Hispaniola? We drag the bedraggled Sailor Murga and his craft back on board and try to console him with the fact that he has at least gotten some exercise; he is not convinced!!
Back in the marina later, Darragh requests the resurrection of my Mechanical Engineering skills to help with doing some of the routine checks required on the boat's diesel engine. I am happy to assist, it is messy but enjoyable work as we drain water from the fuel filter, check coolant levels, belt tensions and pluck some seaweed from the seawater filter. This sailing stuff is hard work, my body is still adjusting from Bangkok time, so sleep comes easily this night as the boat rocks gently on the breeze.
On Sunday morning Darragh and I are joined by a different crew in the form of Paul Hammond and fiancée Mary Pat. As we chug out of the marina towards open water Darragh wonders aloud that the exhaust note of the motor sounds different. A quick look over the side of the boat confirms that there is no water coming out of the exhaust, which is apparently a very ominous sign on a diesel-powered boat. We have no choice but turn around and head back to the marina. A prolonged investigation of the manuals and all those parts of the engine we had so confidently tackled the night before is unable to restore the flow of life-giving brine to the cooling system and we are forced to call in the professionals who have us up and running with a minimum of effort. After a 3-hour delay are finally mobile and heading for open water to catch the last of the fine afternoon breeze. Darragh vows to take some marine diesel engine maintenance courses in his quest for sailing omniscience and save him from the half-knowledge of landlubbers like me :-)
After the initial hiccup, another pleasant day of sailing ensues in moderately strong winds. One's sense of up and down gets slightly confused in a boat which is keeled over at thirty degrees as we whiz along the waves. Still, it is a relief to put my feet back on solid ground at the end of the day. As we drive back into London on a summer Sunday evening we feel at one with the other multitudes returning to the hive from their weekend of leisure in the many corners of the land.
On Monday morning I bid London farewell and fly to Cork airport in south west Ireland.
 Raven at Tower of London |
 Darragh boating on the Solent |
Mon 22 July - Thu 15 Aug : Ireland
Most time is spent in relaxed contemplation at home on the farm with my mother and brother. I have just (August 9th) returned from a week long trip "up the country" to meet a variety of friends and relatives. It is interesting to note how the country, and Dublin in particular, is changing and advancing in the few years I have been away. New highways, bypasses and bridges abound, and the Dublin suburbs I knew so well are being transformed before my eyes; amazing.
One common theme during my week of meeting friends is the number of babies that they all seem to be having or are expecting soon. It would seem that the future population of the country is secure, and I can relax :-)
The 10th, 11th and 12th of August are dates of tremendous significance to everyone from Killorglin, being the dates of our annual festival called Puck Fair (www.puckfair.ie). In this pagan festival, a male goat is captured on the mountain, crowned as "King Puck" and enthroned on a high platform in the town square. On the streets below there are horse and cattle fairs, markets selling all manner of strange goods, the "Birds Bazaar" funfair, and pubs dispensing music and porter in goodly measure. The festival attracts a fine slice of humanity and serves as a an annual reunion for Kerry people who have spread themselves throughout the world and beyond. As I write (August 12th) my body aches from the sleep deprivation that comes of being in pubs until the wee small hours and my throat aches from ill-sung songs. Nonetheless, it is a fine way to get tired!!
One interesting observation in Ireland and Puck Fair this year is the huge popularity of telephone text messaging which are an ideal way to stay in touch as you wander through the din of noisy pubs; in any pub and on the streets one can see many revellers staring at the glowing screens of their mobile phones and typing as fast as their fingers will allow. How did we ever live without it in days gone by?
Thu 15 Aug - Wed 28 Aug : Peru
I made it to Peru OK after a comic interlude in Miami Airport where we were being led back and over between different departure gates in search of our flight. Lima in August has a peculiar climate, being foggy all of the time and surprisingly cold at night for a place in the tropics. It is not an especially attractive city, but I do enjoy a tour of the Church of San Francisco, with its ghoulish selection of human bones in its catacombs.
On Sunday August 18th, I fly to the Inca city of Cuzco which is a fantastic place of old Inca temples, Conquistador cathedrals and stunning high mountains. Like most new arrivals I spent the first day or two suffering from the effects of altitude sickness due to the city being at an altitude of 3,800metres above sea level.
From Cuzco, I make a two-day trip to the "lost Inca mountain city" of Macchu Picchu. Words could not do justice to this place, so I will not attempt to do so at this time (22-Aug-2002).
On Friday August 23rd I fly back to Lima on the coast. The Andes generally hide themselves beneath cloud, only revealing themselves towards the end of the flight. The city of Lima is completely shrouded in its perennial for, and we are utterly at the mercy of the pilot's instruments as we plunge into the soup of clouds.
That night, Francis and I catch a night bus to the high mountains of the Huaraz region, 400km north of Lima. The scenery here is very dramatic and we visit some dramatic mountain lakes and glaciers, and enjoy the sight of the massive flowers of the Puyi Raimondi plant which is local to the area.
I write this in the transit lounge of Santiago airport as I await the long flight to Sydney for a welcome return to upsidedownland (28-Aug-2002)
Thu 29 Aug onwards : Back in Sydney
 Back in Australia; Sydney sunset as viewed from my office in Rhodes |
 "Office life can be tough"; the well-stocked beef fridge is ready for Friday frolics |