A Photo Essay
Bangkok After Dark
Two nights in Bangkok with one backpack: Chinatown on an empty stomach, and Khao San until the rain came.
Bangkok was the halfway point of my trip. By day I did the temples, like everyone. But the Bangkok I remember starts at sunset: one night eating my way down Yaowarat Road, and one that began at a market and ended on Khao San at three in the morning.
Night One
Chinatown on an Empty Stomach
The cooks work right on the pavement, each with a wok, a gas flame and a plastic stool. Nobody writes anything down, and nobody gets an order wrong.
“Further down, the side streets turn into one long open-air restaurant. You sit on whichever stool is free, and the dishes arrive from three different kitchens.”
Skewers at ten baht each, a tom yum that came to the table still boiling, and a squid salad so spicy that the woman at the next table laughed out loud at my face.
In Chinatown you don't choose a restaurant. You choose a smell and follow it.
Night Two
Dinner Under the Tents
“Down among the stalls it was hot and loud and smelled of garlic and grilled squid. We ordered by pointing and ate standing up.”
Pad thai from a wok the size of a satellite dish, and crispy pork with raw chilli and garlic on the side. Three plates each, and the whole bill came to less than one beer at home.
Later That Night
Khao San Road
“Drinks come from carts here. I asked for something with lime and got a bucket with three straws in it.”
A table on the pavement, a round of Chang, and new friends every time somebody went to the bar.
A good night in Bangkok has three parts: eat, dance, massage. The order is up to you.
“Just before three the rain came, and the street emptied in minutes. Only the tuk tuks stayed out. I walked the last hundred metres to my hostel, soaked through and content.”
The Night Train North
The next evening I took the night train to Chiang Mai. Somewhere past Ayutthaya I realised I had hardly seen Bangkok in daylight, and I didn't mind at all.