We intended to take a trip down one of the canals, or khlongs, of the city today. At one time there had been a huge network of them, making Bangkok, “the Venice of the East”, at least according to the tiourist brochures, but now, under the prrssures of modernisation, most of them have been covered over or filled in.As a result, not only has Bangkok lost an attractive + effective way of getting about, but also let itself in for serious flooding problems every rainy season. Strolled down to the Memorial Bridge, from where, according to a tourist brochure we’d picked up, it should have been possible to catch a regular boat to a temple called Wat Lao. However, Mr P had expressed serious doubts about the availability of such a trip, +, as usual, he was the most reliable source of information. Once we arrived at the wharf, it was difficult to obtain any information. The taxi-boat drivers ignored us once they discovered we weren’t interested in chartering a boat. So, not quite knowing what to do, we sat on the bench + tried to divine something of what was going on by just looking. We nearly gave up completely + just got on a boat anyway, but luckily a guy who spoke some English happened along. He was able to confirm that the boat to Wat Lao n o longer ran (if indeed it ever had) + he also told us where the regular boats were going, so we decided to go on one of those. Which was the same as we had decided to do anyway, but at least we knew where we were going.
It was a good trip. At first, the view along the khlong was predictable – wooden shacks + shops crowded on top of one another, but as we went out further, the scene gradually changed, became more open – there were even modern houses in their own grounds, worth a fortune, I should imagine. The khlong was clearly no anachronism – it was being used as a fast + efficient means of transport for goods of all types, from a flotilla of logs chained together + oulled by a small tug-launch, down to one-woman floating food stalls. The river was filthy, being a repository for everyone’s rubbish, yet was both a recreation centre for the kids, diving, swimming, splashing, + everybody’s bathtub. There were a few dug-out canoes being paddled about, generally by the very old or the very young, but mostly the boats were long-tail, using an ordinary car-engine mounted on gimbals to turn a small propeller at the end of a long pole projecting way out to the stern, more like a food mixer than a means of propulsion. It seemed something of a makeshift arrangement to me, so it was surprising to see it in such universal use – there was not a regular outboard motor to be seen. These improvisations clearly did the job, however – one boat with a couple of young guys in it came racing past us at an enormous speed, spraying us with water. It was funny to see another one, with a lone policeman in it, in hot pursuit – a speed cop of the khlongs.
At the end of our trip, we had a coke at a waterfront café – that’s not as romantic as it sounds, it was a seedy wooden shop, + we sat on rickety wooden stools – + then caught another boat back. Interestingly, we were charged half as much for the return journey as the outward, which presumably meant we were charged double the first time. Not to worry.
When we returned, we walked to Wat Po, a notable tourist destination, within easy walking distance, tho’ we managed to walk all the way around the perimeter before we found the entrance. We then discovered it cost B10 entrance, so decided that just I should go in. This was just as well, I think, for it was disappointing. The best view in the temple, of the variously sized decorated chedis (or spires) could be obtained from the gateway itself. The main attraction, an enormous reclining Buddha, was very disappointing, being patched + peeling + without splendour. It was also depressing that so much of the wat seemed to have been turned over to the “money-changers” – stalls selling tourist merchandise, art-work of dubious quality, + coke at double price.
Walked home to 2i5 across the park. Val wasn’t feeling too well, so she had a nap while I ate a light snack, then strolled down the road to see some Thai boxing. It was a lot more expensive than we had expected, B100 a ticket, so maybe it was just as well I was on my own. It certainly was a different sort of sporting experience. I have only seen ordinary boxing on TV, but this was different, being both more subdued, lacking the fanfare hype of the big clashes, + more fervent. Each pair of boxers (there were 9 bouts scheduled in all) prayed a lot, first with their individual trainers, then alone, in the middle of the ring, combining devotional movements with an elaborate series of warming-up exercises. And all the while they were accompanied by live music, strange, rhythmic, oriental stuff. Then it was final preparations, a loud buzz, stools out, boxers standing in their corners, the ring of the bell, + in they went, cautiously at first, watching, wary, just like any boxing match anywhere. Except that it wasn’t. I knew they were allowed to kick as well as punch, but I assumed the kicking would be a rarely-used addition to the real business of boxing. In fact, it was very much the reverse – the early exploratory sparring was mostly done with the feet, + the fists only came into play when things started to warm up. Plus there was a lot more wrestling allowed than in regular boxing. It seemed to be an allowable, +, judging by the crowd’s reaction, much approved ploy to hold one’s opponent in a fierce clinch, + then tackle him with sideways blows with the knee to the kidney + ribs – vicious stuff.
Giving myself one round to appraise the fighters, I managed to pick the winners to the first 3 bouts. The first one I judged in defiance of convention, at least to the tenets of ordinary boxing, for while the guy in the blue shorts was instructed at each round’s end in the best Angelo Dundee style, the red fellow + his trainer simply prayed together (a technique some more-scientifically-minded coaches might profitably adopt.) However, my choice was not entirely whimsical, for although there was little to choose between Red + Blue in terms of their kicking ability, Red was by far the better boxer.
Fight 2 was equally simple: Red was pretty + danced stylishly to the rhythm of the drums, but Blue hit so much harder. By the end of Bout 3, when I’d done it again, I was beginning to daydream about the money I could be making, doubling my stake each time. But it was, I realised even then, no more than a daydream. The gambling around the deeply-terraced stadium was frenetic, but to me totally incomprehensible. Various guys who were bookies would hold up so many fingers, 2, 3, 4, but what they meant – odds, the round? – I had no idea. There wasn’t even a way I could tell which guy they were taking bets on – there were one or other, stranger gestures, just to make sure I couldn’t understand. And in any case, my dreams of winning a quick fortune disappeared when I, mentally, backed the wrong guy in the next 2 bouts. By the 6th bout, I’d seen enough, + my head was beginning to pound a little from the noise, + the bout looked unexciting, so I left.
Val was feeling a good bit better, so we went out for a drink – Mekong whiskey + coke.
Another busy day – considering we are just idling away time, we do seem to be getting to see quite a bit. And both activities – the canals and the boxing – had their rewards.
