Bangkok, Thailand

I am scribbling this while waiting for my fight to Cairo to taxi out. It is only now, as I skim through the in flight magazine, that I realize that I will be in Egypt for Ramadan. While a month of fasting seems like no fun, I do expect lanterns, short tempers and some amazing iftars. Bangkok was wet all day. Today I wandered the alleys of Chinatown and the halls of the National Gallery kinda damp. And not just me… laundry does not dry when it is this humid. My pack exceeds weight load limits due to the wetness of my clothes. I hope Cairo is arid.

As I looked at the art in the National Gallery, I realize that I am not alone in trying to make head and tails of Bangkok. At the back of the museum there was an annual exhibit of contemporary young artists. Amongst the Buddhist influences work and the sci-fi-esque images were art that filtered the frenetic madness of Bangkok through imagination and paint. Fascinating cityscapes and commentary on the sex trade were my favorite pieces. Take beautiful poor young women who are sold by their families as indentured flesh and you have fodder for good art. While might be accepted and established, from the impression I get, I don’t think the industry is well liked by Thai society.

What I did like was Muay Thai. Oh man, those kids are fierce. And I mean kids because some of the fighters might have been like 17 max. The contestants have the same look at the Buddhist monks seen the back of the bus; streets kids put onto a mission. As a foreigner I paid an order of magnitude more for my ticket then the locals. The tout pointed out that I didn’t pay Thai taxes, which is the most brilliant and superfluous argument I have heard about the 2 tier pricing here. But the price did buy me ringside seats.

I didn’t see buckets of blood or any body breaking their shin by kicking someone in the head, though one match ended by knockout and there was a cut forehead in a bout. I can imagine the fury of the fighter with the cut; unless he inflicts more blood on his opponent he loses the fight no matter his technique. I also understand the conditioning for the core muscles. If I took even a couple of knees to the kidneys I’d be pissing blood for a while. Now imagine 15 minutes of blows the sides. No thanks I say, I’d rather be the fat American drinking lagers with a British sailor watching from a distance thinking about how lucky I am.