River of Reflections

Travel Story by Sim Jui Liang

Bangkok, Thailand

Hanging on the toilet wall of the surprisingly tame Cabbages & Condoms Restaurant at Sukhumvit Road, Bangkok, is a framed photograph of the Chao Phraya River. Like a bale of light blue silk, it flows through historic Bangkok, slicing it into Thonburi and Rattanakosin, with the famous Wat Arun on one side and the Grand Palace on the other.

The mighty river was a misleading picture of stillness and tranquillity. As I returned to my travelling companion Alvin and our table of devoured green curry and mountain chicken with wild honey, my mind was made up.

We would take the Chao Phraya River ferry to the Grand Palace and Wat Phra Kaeo the next day...

A motley group of tourists and locals had narrowly missed the ferry when we stepped foot on the Central Pier, which is accessible by sky train to Saphan Taksin station. Minutes later, a ferry docked and commuters rushed and clamoured for the limited seats onboard.

Relegated to standing at the tail of the ferry, we were fortunate enough to enjoy unobstructed views as the motor began to propel. "Remember the Star Ferry in Hong Kong?" I asked Alvin. He just smiled, his polite way of hinting to me that not a single stunning skyscraper was in sight.

He was right. Save for the occasional glorious temple and once-stately, now-dilapidated mansions that would make a haunting set for the Thai horror flick Shutter, it was mostly a stretch of uncharacteristic low-rises on the riverbank.

If the salty river stench fails to spray away your fantasy of cruising down the river in one of the Thai royal golden barges, the river's muddy murky waters probably will. The Chao Phraya River looked green only because of the scores of floating water hyacinths.

And at every berth, incessant whistling made by boat watchers would shatter the deafening roar of the ferry's motor, until the boat driver moored at the correct spot. Then the ferry would resume its rocky journey.

Not every sight or moment is picture-postcard perfect and rightly so. This is Bangkok, a city where the less fortunate young and old hold up a dirty plastic cup for your spare baht, and where the humid air and chocking traffic could lead you to pop an antidepressant.

For just 10 baht, a trip down the Chao Phraya River was a priceless introduction to the fascinating and paradoxical way of life of the Thai people. After all, the river has dominated the city's landscape and defined its psyche since its founding in 1782: King Rama I moved his palace from Thonburi, which was on the west side of the river, to the eastern bank.

Like the inseparable famous Siamese twins Chang and Eng, Bangkok and Chao Phraya River mirror each other. So intertwined are the city's and rivers' destinies that even our dingy ferry carried literally a sign of Bangkok's pride and prejudice.

The few Caucasian tourists opposite us had no idea they were treading on sacred grounds, sort of. Above their heads, a small inconspicuous signage roughly read: "Please give this place to the monks."

I scanned the ferry but there was none of the saffron-clad figures and serene faces we would later encounter at Wat Saket. I have watched reruns of City Cabs on Bangkok in which the host Michael Krass would follow his cabbie in the wee hours of the morning to give alms to the monks. I have read countless travel articles waxing lyrical about how religious the Thais are and how respected the monks are. But I didn't know they are this revered...

Then that familiar clink of coins got louder, sharper and nearer. I had heard that in the air-conditioned coach to Ayutthaya two days ago when a lanky bus conductor folded our baht and issued our tattered tickets. This time, a smiling lady collected our fares and moved on to the next passenger.

If the monks were Bangkok's pride then progress could be the city's prejudice. A part of Bangkok may aspire to be Asia's super-efficient, technology-savvy society, but there's also a part that is resisting the passage of time.

For transport conductors, a trade long vanished in other parts of Asia, to survive in this city, there's a timeless quality about Bangkok. And this was no more apparent than in Yaowarat Road, Bangkok's Chinatown, where dimly lit medicinal and grocery shops exist since time immemorial and where fried noodles taste especially delicious when slurped beside a busy dusty road.

Wanting to avoid the touristy crowd that swamped the Grand Palace, we made our way to Santichaiprakarn Park, walking past the bare Sanam Luang, a quiet Thammasat University and a closed National Museum.

That afternoon, a crew was preparing to film at the park's remaining Phra Sumen Fort. A handful of students and office workers were whiling away time by the concretised riverbank. So were two or three Lonely Planet-type travellers.

Then there was a more placid Chao Phraya River, nudging tiny boats and hyacinths past the imposing Rama VIII Bridge. How these hyacinths drifted into the river remains a mystery. Then again, Bangkok and the Chao Phraya River are an unexplained enigma.

Read more about the author of this story:
Sim Jui Liang