'Lost in the backstreets of Bangkok'
He thought he knew the city. Thought he had all the nooks and crannies, smells and sounds of Bangkok in his pocket. But Bangkok has no owner, no master. And there he was, in the dead of night, surrounded by shadowy alleys and gazes that lingered on him just a little too long. The flickering streetlights gave it an almost ghostly effect, as if the city itself were alive, breathing and challenging him.
“What the hell am I doing here?” he whispered, as if he could calm himself. His voice bounced off the walls of a dilapidated building. The air was thick, a mixture of garbage, incense and fried fish, and somewhere in the distance he could hear a dog barking. Bangkok, in all its raw, unforgiving splendor.
He hadn’t even realized how far he’d strayed. The colorful chaos of the tourist districts had given way to an unspoken silence. Here, no one was in a hurry, no one looked up. No smiling Thai women trying to lure tourists in, no gleaming neon lights. Just faces watching him silently, with a curiosity that could have been hostile as well as protective.
An old man in a faded shirt sat on a plastic stool, his eyes deep and slow as a river. “You lost, farang?” he asked in broken English. There was no sympathy in his voice, but no mockery either. Just an observation. The tourist took a deep breath, tried an airy smile. “No, no, I… I’ll be fine,” he stammered. But the words sounded weak, as if he didn’t quite believe himself yet.
Suddenly, a group of children began to dance, or rather, circle around him. Their looks spoke volumes, he was a stranger in their territory, a curious animal that had ventured into the unknown. He felt his breath quicken, his heart pound in his chest. And then, just as panic struck, it happened.
An older woman appeared from the darkness, her skin weathered by the sun, but her smile radiated something warm and reassuring. “You, come,” she said curtly, and without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his arm. She pulled him into a narrow alley, away from the prying eyes. He was too stunned to struggle.
She led him through a maze of alleys, and for the first time in hours he felt safe. The shadows seemed to swallow him up less here, the silence felt softer. It was as if the city was reaching out to him, to show him that not everything had to be shrouded in darkness.
“Why you come here?” she asked, her eyes as sharp as knives, but something soft gleaming behind them. He didn’t even know the answer himself. Looking for adventure? A story to tell back home? Or was it something else, something he didn’t even understand? Maybe he was just looking for meaning, something to give life a little more color.
The woman, whom he now knew as Noi, led him to her small house on the edge of the slum. Inside, it was dark but cozy. On the floor sat a boy, maybe seven, with an old toy car. His face lit up when he saw his grandmother and the tourist enter. Noi handed him a plate of rice and vegetables. “Eat,” she said simply, without waiting for a thank you.
As he ate, he felt something warm growing inside him. It wasn’t the rice or the vegetables, but something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. The simplicity of the place, Noi’s genuine kindness, the little bit of humanity he’d found here. Bangkok was cruel and unforgiving, but sometimes, just sometimes, she showed a glimpse of her soft side.
After an hour, he felt it was time to go. Noi escorted him to the edge of the slum, where the lights of the city were looming again. She looked at him, nodded, and said with a faint smile, “Next time, you stay away.” He laughed, feeling a strange respect well up for this woman, this strange and familiar soul.
“Thank you,” he said, in his own language. Not that she understood, but words didn’t need meaning here. Sometimes looks and moments say enough.
Bangkok, he thought as he walked back toward the light. The city that never belongs to anyone. But for a moment, she had shown him that beneath the hard, raw surface, there was a heart beating.
About this blogger
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My age officially falls into the category of 'elderly'. I've been living in Thailand for 28 years - try to do that. The Netherlands used to be paradise, but it fell into disrepair. So I went looking for a new paradise and found Siam. Or was it the other way around and Siam found me? Either way, we were good-natured.
ICT provided a regular income, something you call 'work', but for me it was mainly a pastime. Writing, that's the real hobby. For Thailandblog I'm picking up that old love again, because after 15 years of hard work you deserve some reading material.
I started in Phuket, moved to Ubon Ratchathani, and after a stopover in Pattaya I now live somewhere in the north, in the middle of nature. Rest never rusts, I always say, and that turns out to be true. Here, surrounded by greenery, time seems to stand still, but fortunately life doesn't.
Eating, especially lots of it – that’s my passion. And what makes an evening complete? A good glass of whisky and a cigar. That’s about it, I think. Cheers!
Photos, I don't do that. I always look ugly in them, even though I know Brad Pitt pales in comparison. It must be the photographer, I think.
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What a great story and what a good/fine language. I have saved the story and will read it often. HG.