The Big Mango Redux

A trackside interview by the local school kids.  "What is your favorite food?"

Time has run out on this journey. Under yet another blazing sun (remember that sun, My Lad, you will regret its passing) we set on on yet another train, the last short ride into Bangkok.

The views of a watery countryside were replaced by the gritty entry into Bangkok.  A huge sprawling city, to enter Bangkok by train is to see its seamy side, the shanty towns and riverside hovels.  Bangkok is a massive collection of neighborhoods and not all of them are the Palace and the Reclining Buddha.  Taking the train in from the north is a very good way to see another aspect of this city.  Along the freeway construction site are the workers quarters made of corrugated roofing without windows.  There are whole neighborhoods of shacks on stilts leaning chock-a-block against each other.  Wooden duck boards take the place of sidewalks.  Dark and dirty water swirls along next to, under, and through these living areas.   It is another world, separated altogether from the groomed grounds of the main temples that are the big tourist destinations.  

 The "other" Bangkok from the train window.

Welcome to the neighborhood.
 

Crossing the Klong into the heart of Bangkok.

The Royal Station draped in mourning.

Crossing the Klong, the shanty towns are replaced by administration buildings draped in mourning for the King.  The concrete gives way to vast green garden tracts as we enter the government district.  The royal train station is a very pretty and seldom used spot on the main line.  Today it was somber, laid out in the black and white of mourning.  Many people on the train were wearing black ribbons on their shoulders or breast pockets.  Reaching Hua Lamphong station at last, we saw crowds of people sitting everywhere.  The waiting area was full of Thai people, crowds of a size I have never seen there before.  The queues of people for public transport were so long that the police were directing the line.  People had come from all over the country to pay their respects to the King.  We had returned to Bangkok as it became a city in mourning.  

It is a short walk from Hua Lamphong to the secret guesthouse.  Down into the metro and up the other side avoids the death-crossing of Rama V.  Back up on the sidewalk, a few quick twists and turns leads us to my hideaway.  The soi (alley) has fallen on hard times of late.  It was a busy and happier place in years gone by, but perhaps it is just the season.  Still, it is my refuge in this busy city.

My One had a single request:  Indian Food.  It happens on journeys.  Suddenly Thai food, or Sri Lankan food, or Vietnamese cuisine is simply the last thing one wants to eat.  Last night in Bangkok, what do you do?  You find your Heart some Indian food.  

Our Guy in Bangkok for Indian Food.  Okay, Bangladeshi food to be more precise.  

We set out on foot for a small neighborhood near Silom, a Muslim enclave tucked against the overhead expressway.  Here was a place to find Indian and Halal food.  It is dark and hot along the sidewalks of the city.  Rush hour traffic creates a solid mass of steel on the streets.  We slid past sidewalk stalls and diners, dogs and low hanging signs.  Another night walk in The Big Mango.  Then there was the small soi (alley) that turned right off the main street.  This was our spot.  Peering down the lane, many a traveler would turn away quickly and beat feet for the bright lights of Silom.  Muted light spilled from windows and fell across the sidewalk.  Small signs hung over shops and cafes'.  The lane died out at the pillars of the expressway, which rumbled overhead.  Some shadowy folks stood here and there, talking in groups.  It was as if one had looked into the Hollywood cliche' of the "Street You Do Not Walk Down."  But hey, this is Bangkok.  In we went.

"Oh, no, so sorry, but we are closed tonight."  Our would-have-been-hostess was a broad as she was tall, which she wasn't, and with a smile even broader.  Taking us in tow, she led us several doors down to another tiny cafe'.  Calling through the door, she ushered us in.  We were greeted and seated, the only customers in the place.  A smiling discussion was a prelude for a tour of the kitchen and introductions to the staff, all young men.  This was our spot for the night.

 First up, Daal with Chapati and Naan.  It was a holiday from rice.

The next course was a Beef masala which packed a long slow burn.  Wonderful!!
 

 Yummy bready goodness, such a nice change under the teeth.

And no meal complete without cardamom laced milk tea.  Eating and laughing, we planned a trip to Bangladesh, encouraged by our host.  Local men came in for take-out orders, but we remained the only seated customers.  Everyone else was somehow related to the operation.  It was a great evening and a great meal.

Back through the labyrinth of Bangkok to our secret soi, but not to fear, for this is Mi Barrio.  Our last night in the city.  Every smell and sound seemed amplified with longing.  The leaving weighs heavy on our hearts as it always does, and heavier with each leaving.  I have a compatriot who talks about not having any "leavings" left in himself.  He fears that one more trip to Thailand will cut through his last moorings.  Not Bangkok, as much as I love this place.  I could never live here.  That is not the danger my compatriot talks about, or that My Heart knows.  But Isaan, or Soppong in the north?  Yes, those places could be the undoing of a traveler.  

For now we are safe from these dangers, if not from these longings.  We must board the plane and fly back to grey and cold Vienna.  So it goes, another journey done.  There will be a bit more to say about this last month, but not now Friends and Neighbors.  I bid you a melancholy Ciao for Now!