Bangkok, day one (part II)

The latter half of Thursday, July 24 went swimmingly, and more than made up for the crappy first half. 

I hopped the BTS Skytrain from Ratchathewi Station to Phrom Phong, about five or six stations south. (Only 34 baht compared to the 150 I'd been paying them crooked tuk-tuk drivers.) Upon leaving the station and walking a few hundred yards, I noticed a plywood sign. It was affixed over the threshold of a restaurant named Im Chan, across the four-lane road beneath the elevated railway, and read "THAIFOOD VERY GOOD AND VERY CHEAP."

Well, how could I possibly pass that up?

I waltzed right in and ordered up some shrimp pad thai for 50 baht and fried tofu, also 50 baht. A hulking, delicious meal for only $3.50. I was beginning to succumb to the charms of Southeast Asia, corrupt tuk-tuk drivers and nosy Thai geezers notwithstanding. It was nice, for once, to not be able to decide which items on the menu to select...but to have the sound financial option of selecting both.

I smacked my lips, paid my bill, and walked a few blocks further, to the area of Sukhumvit Road between Soi 26 and Soi 28, to a little foreigner-owned bookstore called Dasa Book Café.

Not my photo.

The smell as I walked through the doors was a wondrous blend of hardwood floors, dusty shelves, yellowing pages, creased bindings, and dog-eared covers. I paused for a moment to savor it—it'd been many a long year since I'd smelled that particular deliciousness. 

I was looking for something to replace The Catcher in the Rye—my copy of which, in fact, is even now sitting on the shelf in Mixed Dormitory C of Boxpackers Hostel off Pretchaburi Road in Bangkok, awaiting the next thirsty reader. Almost immediately as I entered Dasa I spotted a tattered copy of Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim and snatched it up. I'd been meaning to read it for ages. A couple of minutes later I noticed a cardboard sign that had the legend "MORE BOOKS UPSTAIRS!" scribbled on it in black marker, so I ascended a narrow mahogany staircase and located the sci-fi section. There I found Frank Herbert's Dune and The Number of the Beast by Robert A. Heinlein. I almost bought both, but I figured I'd limit myself to two books, as heartbreaking as that was. I didn't want to bring a whole library home to Seoul in my backpack. I selected Dune. 

The final item on the day's list was to find some high place and get the lay of the land—preferably a cocktail bar that wasn't too picky about dress codes. So I chose the tallest building in Thailand: the Baiyoke Sky Hotel.

I paid $10 and rode up to the observation deck on the 77th floor, which was something like a museum. It had photogenic artifacts scattered about, tailor-made for the vain Asian obsession with selfies. 

...which many a Westerner has fallen prey to.

I took a leisurely stroll around, looking at everything. It was only four o'clock and I had some time to kill before the sunset (or the bar opened, whichever came first). I took the elevator up to the 83rd floor and walked up two flights of stairs to the rotating open-air observation deck. A fine, cool breeze was blowing, wiping the sweat off my forehead after my steamy trek through south-central Bangkok. The city sure looked pretty in the late afternoon sunlight.

Then I went down to the bar, had a Manhattan, and watched the sun sink lower...

...directly into a welter of storm clouds boiling up from the western horizon. 

Rats. No sunset?

I paid 300 baht for my drinks and went back up to the observation platform. The wind had freshened and I could see that it was raining like hell a few miles to the west, on the outskirts of the city. I dithered around up there until the first drops began to fall, and then I went back to the 77th floor, opened up Dune, and began to read. The thunderstorm rolled across the city and rain pelted the windows. Lightning flashed at three points of the compass and the room darkened to nocturnal depths. 

I was determined to wait the storm out. Sunset wouldn't be until nearly 8, so there was a fine chance that this monsoon squall would blow itself out before then. My instincts were correct. The sun broke through at 7:45. I slammed my book shut and raced back up to the top deck. 

The air had a heavier, wetter, more relaxed feeling, as if some pent-up energy had been released, and sky and ground were but two lovers lying in bed and sharing a cigarette after a tempestuous bout of lovemaking. A few stray droplets still blew through the air and tickled the eyebrows and lashes. Loving couples stood tangled up with each other as they watched the sun peek through a hole in the clouds and illuminate all creation with its soft pinkish-gold light. Then the fiery orb sank out of sight beyond the western horizon and its ruff of grey oblivion, and I capitulated and went home. 

I made two resolutions that evening: to tour western Bangkok by water bus, see two or three temples, and do it all without setting foot in a tuk-tuk. Come back tomorrow to see how it all fell out.