One one things

Though it was passed 2pm the sun had never quite managed to break out, but it was threatening to do so all the time. Walking out of Le Louvre the next item on the agenda was Notre Dame. I still didn’t have a decent map so I was quite lucky to be within sight of Île de la Cité, knowing that Notre Dame was on this island. Walking along the banks of the seine was thoroughly pleasant. Vendors had put up little stores selling loads of souvenirs, arty posters, old books and great little nick knacks. I love browsing through this kind of stuff but I sadly didn’t have time for more than just a few isolated stops along the way. Yet another mental note of what I need to do the next time I’m in town. I could just imagine what it must be like in summer. I finally reached the island, crossing one of the many pretty bridges across the river. After following a few road signs and asking a couple of chaps I found myself at the foot of the fabulous cathedral, and just then, out came the sun, lighting up Notre Dame and the rest of Paris. There was a long but fast moving queue to enter so I took my time admiring the Gothic building from far and then from much closer. Again the attention to detail in the sculptures adorning the wall left me speechless. Hundreds of faces and torsos line the curves of the three arches at the entrance, no two faces being alike. I didn’t know where to start looking, there was so much going on in the architecture and the sculpture. I regretted not having read up on the details of the works of art, but I caught up a bit on my return. After several minutes of trying to gather in what I could of the exterior I joined the queue to enter the cathedral.

The entrance was spectacular bc the first thing you see on your right when you enter the cathedral proper is the amazing statue of the crucified bronze Christ, donated by Napolean III. It looks fantastic against the candle light and I was annoyed that I couldn’t get a decent picture of it. Notre Dame was easily one of the most impressive cathedrals I’ve seen - it would be even more amazing if there were fewer ppl inside and it was quiet, but you can’t have it all. I loved the candles everywhere, the tall and intricate stain glass and the chandeliers. The dominance of candle light ensured that most of the statues had a very natural glow to them, making them appear even more beautiful. The altar itself was not as impressive as I’d hoped, but the stain glass on either side make up for it. The roof is also nicely done; beautiful curves and as high as you’d expect given the size of the building. After doing a full round I sat down to take it all in. I was trying to picture a religious service in progress - the singing, the robes, the warmth and love. Having left the cathedral I spent a few more minutes admiring the exterior before spotting another queue to climb the top of the cathedral and to see the bell. This queue was also long but far slower moving, and it took a good 30 mins to climb the 400 odd stairs to the top. But it was worth it. The view is quite spectacular, the whole of Paris at your feet, and you get to share it with the rather scary looking gargoyles, reminding me of the Bodleian in Oxford. It wasn’t the clearest of days but all the major sights were very much accessible, Le Tour Eiffel, the town hall building and Sacre Coeur in the distance - my next destination. Another flight of stairs and I got to the bell made famous by the Hunchback. This part of the cathedral was somewhat eerie - it was dark and musty, the gargoyles and the image of the hunchback in my head combined to make me a bit uneasy. Just then there was a thud and a child screamed, followed by howls and tears. A small child had knocked his head and fallen down a few steps - he was ok but very shaken up. I didn’t want to stay too long there so I headed back down. By now my legs had begun to ache a bit and I was really hungry - it was time to head to Montmartre.

I walked passed L’Hôtel de Ville (the City Hall) where a big screen had been erected and ppl were sitting on the grass enjoying the Australia v Canada game. I wasn’t quite sure how to get to Montmartre but I knew it was North of the river so I tried to walk it, but a couple of ppl sounded confused when I asked for directions bc it was much further than I thought. I found a tourist info spot at the end of the City hall so I walked up and asked the chap “Comme on va au Montmartre?” he smiled and said, “Let me get you a map.” This was like gold, a Frenchman willing and able to speak English. He told me to take the underground and get out at Abesses. I took my wallet out to pay for the map and he smiled again and “c’est gratuit.” I wasn’t quite sure where to go when I stepped out of Abesses station so I thought I’d look for a crowd and follow it, but there was no general direction of travel. I ended up walking into a little town like place which I assumed was what the station was named after. This was a stroke of luck bc it felt like what would be a little French village in the middle of Paris. There were lots of bakeries selling french croissants and French bread, judging by the queues the stuff must have been great. There were cafes where locals were spilling onto the streets and unlike most of the other places I had been to during the day this place was not a tourist attraction, which made it all the more enjoyable. I walked around some more, every other store was selling some form of food; testimony to the famed relationship between the Frenchman and his cuisine. I was in danger of getting sidetracked so I resumed my effort to find Montmartre. I had no idea what to expect except that it was a place where Bohemian culture used to thrive and that there was a pretty white church closeby.

I found a signpost directing me up a hilly road which led to the stunning Sacre Coeur. It reminded me of the Moghul tombs of North India more than a church, with it’s tall, white, rotund structure. It was quite regal, looking down on Paris over the grassy hill upon which it rested. There was a long queue to enter so I decided to just admire it from far. Walking around there were wonderful, narrow, crowded, cobbled streets lined with shops catering to tourists - souvenirs, paintings, cafes. It was very pleasant but after walking around a bit I felt I expected more of Montmartre, more than just a few shops selling tourist stuff. I was hungry though, so I went in search of food. I was reading the menu of a restaurant when a loud Irish voice said; “St. Catherine’s, is that Oxford or Cambridge?” I looked that way, a bit confused, when I remembered I was wearing my university sweatshirt. I grinned at them and pointed at the University badge. “That means you got to buy us a round of pints, right? Are you coming for tomorrow’s game?” The chaps were quite merry, as you would expect traveling Irish rugby fans to be. I made a few excuses and made off, the restaurant didn’t have what I was looking for. I finally decided on a crepe so I stopped at a quaint little creperie and had a wonderful cheese, ham and mushroom crepe topped up with some cafe au lait. The girl at the creperie gave me too much change and she seemed very confused when I returned E2.50, but she smiled sweetly. I knew there must be more to Montmartre so I tried again, and this time came across a steeper road going parallel to Sacre Coeur. The roads were narrower, and judging by the crowds coming down the road I knew I was finally on track.

Montmartre is fantastic. The narrow road led to a square at the top of the hill which was full of artists, musicians, wonderful paintings and sketches on display, and little shops selling a host of products from souvenirs to antiques. The artists were superb, lined up with ear plugs to drown out the crowds and focus on their work, and what wonderful work it was - caricatures, portraits, snapshots of Paris and Montmartre, the Moulin Rouge. It’s not that Montmartre was the genuine article, it was obviously very different to what it was in the past, today there is an almost artificial recreation of the past in order to live up to the expectations of tourists. But the nice part is it’s really easy to imagine what it would have been like in the past, the atmosphere seems to remain, if in a slightly different context. I was gently told off for taking a photograph of a young girl being drawn. I was trying to capture the moment but it just slipped that kids pictures are a no no without permission. From the gaps in the streets you could look down on large expanses of Paris, and at the other end Le Sacre Coeur peers over the trees from what feels like touching distance. The setting is truly breathtaking. I spent a long time walking back and forth in Montmartre, browsing the shops and watching the artists at work. By now my feet were really aching and it was almost dusk so I knew I had to get back sooner rather than later.

The next destination was the Latin Quarter for a bite. A Uruguayan girl I met at the conference who had lived in Paris for a few months told me that I must spend an evening at the Latin quarter and walk around with the young ppl that roam around after dusk. This is the traditional studenty area of Paris; the hive of creativity and intelligentsia (my mind immediately went to Les Miserables and the students plotting the revolution). I took the underground to St. Martin and it wasn’t quite dark yet so I walked to a little park opposite Notre Dame which was looking beautiful as the evening light fell on her. I sat on a bench reflecting on my day, tired but satisfied and looking forward to a final French meal before heading back to get some sleep. I stumbled upon a fabulous bookshop just outside the park and decided to have a look. I never expected to run into an English language book store in the heart of Paris, but that’s what Shakespeare and Company is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a vast array of books packed into such a small area. But it was beautifully done, not confined, predominantly woody, with nice homely light and friendly staff. There were second hand and original books, and as usual I made for the travel section and found a Dalrymple that I was yet to read. It was a bit pricey so I refrained from emptying my pockets, but it was really nice to walk around the tiny bookshop, ducking to move under the arches from one section to another. There was a little noticeboard detailing the history of the bookshop, still owned by George Whitman who moved from the States to Paris 60 years ago. By the time I left it was dark and I was hungry again so I moved to the by roads which were lined with numerous small restaurants offering a wide range of cuisine; from French to Mexican and Turkish. The place was buzzing with a great atmosphere, each restaurant was dishing out its own flavour of music which mingled into one another making the whole street alive with sound and life. There was a jazz club that was unfortunately not open so I moved along in search of French food - preferably pepper steak. I was on the look out for a French restaurant which was relatively full of French speakers - a signal of popularity amongst the locals. After a fairly extensive search I found one, and was thrilled to find both pepper steak and mussels cooked in white wine. It was quite superb, served up alongside more delightful French bread and wine. Over an hour later I dragged myself back to the underground station to make my way back to Sevres. I was exhausted but exhilerated; what a day.

The next morning I found that I won’t be able to make it to Le Chateau de Versailles; the bus takes close to an hour and it opens at 9, so it would not happen given the early afternoon flight out of Paris. Instead I walked to the town market and got some bread, ham and cheese for breakfast. I was thrilled that I was able to manage my mini-shopping attempt entirely in French. Four days in Paris and I had managed to brush up my extremely rusty French even to a small extent. The journey to the airport took over an hour and I was quite glad that I didn’t take a risk by going to Versailles as well. Another note for next time. As I was sitting in the airport waiting for my flight I recalled being upset that I would not be able to get a couple of extra days off to explore Paris. Luckily for me I had at least one full day and three nights; and I was thrilled that I had made so much out of this limited time. But what excited me the most was that there was so so much more that this city had to offer. As the plane took off I looked out the window and whispered, “Paris, merci et au revoir.”

Saturday began gloomily, but at least the rain had stayed away. I wanted to set out as early as possible to make the most of my free time but there really wasn’t much point leaving till around 9 bc it didn’t look pleasant at all outside. The plan really was quite simple, take the underground to the Champs-Élysées, walk up to L’Arc de Triomphe and then head east towards Le Louvre and take things from there, on foot as much as possible. After breakfast I headed out, it was chilly and I had my sweatshirt from uni to keep me warm. I got off at the FDR station on line 9 which I was told would place me at the centre of the Champs-Élysées. 15 mins later I was out of the station and a few steps to my left and I was stepping on to the Champs-Élysées and far away on my left was L’Arc de Triomphe. After the Eiffel Tower the Arc has been my most memorable image of France, and seeing it for the first time gave a sense of beginning and a surge of excitement ran through my body as I made towards it. The Champs-Élysées itself is a story, it’s the widest road in Paris and it just seemed to have acres of space. Unfortunately the sun hadn’t as yet made an appearance and it was quite early so the place was relatively empty. The street cafes had not as yet opened and the major stores were just preparing for a weekend of shoppers. What struck me about the Champs-Élysées is the buildings that line it. They all seem to be beautifully and classically designed, each with a great deal of attention paid to the architecture. The height of the buildings flanking the road nicely complement the size of the road, and the perfectly symmetrical trees decorating the pavements make the entire scene very neat. One of the “must do” things that I read in the lonely planet in the airport was to enjoy a crêpe at a cafe on the Champs-Élysées, watching the world go by. But as I said, Paris was just waking up, yawning lazily, eyes half open. I’d also imagine the Champs-Élysées to be a spectacle in the evening or on a busy summer day. Next time.

It took ages to reach L’Arc de Triomphe, I’m not sure if it was because I walked so slowly, stopping to admire the buildings and to look at the arc itself, or because the distance really was that great. As I got closer I kept crossing the road so that I can stop in the middle and have a look at the monument. What is really striking is its size. You can never really capture its scale through images bc you always see it relative to the Champs-Élysées and thereby automatically it looks smaller than it really is. Standing under it you get a better idea of its magnitude. Despite it being quite early there were plenty of tourists, lots of Americans and Japanese. I didn’t want to go to the top bc there were big queues and there was system of going in groups and it seemed a bit complex. The eternal flame looks uninspiring at first glance, the flame itself being quite small for something that has been alight since 1920 (except in 1998 when a sketchy Mexican football fan pissed on it - trust football fans). I probably hurt my neck after my 20 mins or so at the Arc, staring up at the sculptures and the several hundred names of soldiers etched into the walls. I felt pleased with myself after asking a policeman how to get to the Louvre, in French. The directions were quite simple - walk straight down the Champs-Élysées, towards Le Place de la Concorde with its Egyptian Obelisk de Luxor. The 2km walk down the Champs-Élysées went by like a breeze, continuing to admire the buildings and looking back at the Arc from time to time.

When I got to Le place de la Concorde I wasn’t too sure where I was. I didn’t know what the Obelisk nor its significance as a monument over 3000 years of age that stood outside the Luxor temple. I got too close to the ancient fountains flanking the obelisk and got wet. I knew that there was a garden complex that leads to Le Louvre so as soon as I saw an expanse of green I made my way towards it. And so I found myself in Le Jardin des Tuileries. More than one person had told me that there are better ways to spend a couple of hours in Paris than visiting the Louvre. Over the past few days I had turned over several plans in my head - Le Musée d’Orsay, Versailles, extra time in Montmartre and the Latin Quarter - but eventually I felt that I would probably regret it if I didn’t step in even for a little bit, even if it meant looking at a painting with 500 others staring over your shoulder. The building itself was a work of art, and I spent a few minutes walking around looking at the external views of the different wings. The pyramid at the entrance is somewhat out of place in that in contrasts with the older, more classical style of the surroundings. I had earmarked the Italian and Spanish art galleries in the Denon wing and the Egyptian artifacts gallery in the Sully wing. Unsurprisingly it was crowded, and it also seemed like most ppl were heading to Denon as well, again unsurprisingly as it was home to the Mona Lisa. There were also some rather uninspiring posters of the da Vinci code and references to the Mona Lisa, along with several arrows directing the eager tourist to the most famous resident of the museum - I began to worry that I had made the wrong call. I’m really not one who knows much about art, I find paintings aesthetically pleasing, I love paintings that depict real emotion and I am enthralled by the work of certain artists like Dali. But show me a painting and ask me to name the artist, period etc. and I’d really be making educated guesses. That said, as soon as I stepped into the Italian gallery I knew I had struck gold.

The massive Roman paintings, almost alive in their detail, quite simply transport you to that era - men playing musical instruments, exuberant banquets, elaborate clothes and the main characters taking centre stage, each telling their own story. I walked from one to the other in an almost trance-like state, trying to capture as much of it as possible, trying to imagine what the artist is trying to tell me from all those years ago. Most of the paintings were of a religious nature, commissioned by churches of the time. It was a quite magnificent gallery - and one I would return to at the drop of a hat. After spending a long time ambling through the main corridor of the wing I made the pilgrimage to see the Mona Lisa. As soon as I walked into the room housing the famous painting I saw a huge crowd of ppl crowding around a relatively small painting, alone on the wall of the far end. I was in no rush so I looked around and was far more struck by the massive painting adorning the opposite wall. I was admiring this painting when a French guy tapped my shoulder and nodded towards the Mona Lisa and said, “La Prima Donna” I looked at it, smiled and nodded and went back to the other painting, when he tapped me again and repeated what he said, and as I motioned to turn back again he said something that implied it was either bad luck or disrespectful to turn your back directly to the Mona Lisa. Somewhat confused I moved away. The Mona Lisa itself is unimpressive; small and insignificant in its vast background, not helped by the throng of ppl queueing up to take pictures. I was surprised they allowed photography in almost all the galleries, and after taking a handful of pictures of some of the paintings I liked I felt uncomfortable and stopped. The main reason I went to the Spanish gallery was in the hope of seeing some original Dalis, but unfortunately I didn’t see any. I didn’t much care for the few pictures in the French gallery I passed through, and since more than an hour and half had passed I decided to move to the Sully wing.

By this time I was thoroughly satisfied - the Italian section did everything for me, so I wasn’t expecting to spend too much time in the Egyptian gallery, but since I had made a note of it I felt I should have a look. And pretty soon I was again caught in a spell and taken back several centuries to a different place, a different era. It was a fascinating gallery - from the large, detailed sculptures of the sphinx and pharaohs, an amazing mummy, wonderfully preserved hieroglyphics and seemingly insignificant yet insightful artifacts retrieved from tombs - providing an amazing capsule of their culture and beliefs. For instance, I always knew that cats had a significant role in Egyptian culture, but there were numerous statues and depictions of monkeys, in particular baboon like creatures. This is odd given there are no baboons in modern Egypt, but some quick reading suggests that baboons may have had a religious role in that this was one form that was frequently taken by gods (possibly helped by the resemblance to humans) and monkeys may have been kept in temples and even as pets in some wealthier households. It was all very fascinating. But I was fast running out of time, it was almost 2, I was getting hungry and I had so many things left to do. It was time to leave Le Louvre, but there was so much left to do, it was the kind of place I could happily spend several days going through. unfortunately all this would have to wait for another time. On the way out I passed through the Persian and Babylonian sections. It was sad to think of the state these once great societies find themselves in now, specially Iraq. As I was leaving Le Louvre I was thrilled that I had followed my gut instinct and decided to spend a couple of hours there. I was well and truly immersed in Paris, I smiled to myself with that tingling feeling of knowing you’re falling in love with something.

I’ve always wanted to go to Paris ever since my parents took my brother there and left me behind on the pretext of my being too small. I was 3, and like Stewey, what do they know? Anyway, 20 years later I got my chance. As soon as I heard about the conference I wanted to take an extra week off and go exploring. What was even better was that unlike all my other trips I wouldn’t have to make a presentation as such so there was no pressure. I was just told to make “an active contribution, presenting SL’s views and experiences whereever possible.” Brilliant. I was scheduled to leave on the 26th of September, work till the 28th, and I was hoping to get back towards the end of 1st week October. Annoyingly plans were dashed by a meeting being scheduled for October 2nd in Colombo so I had to be back. That left me with 3 nights in Paris and the whole of Saturday to explore. It would have to do. The visa as expected was a pain. Had to get health insurance, loads of documentation from work (including a copy of the Parliamentary Act under which we exist) and show up for an interview and the usual finger printing on a separate day. That day however it became clear why they have to do all of this. There was a chap from Kalutara who was applying for a 3 month tourist visa and we got chatting. Half way through he looks at me and casually asks, “ithin oya innawada, enawada?” I first had no idea what he was on about, and then I figured it out and said that I’m coming back. After a few mins I asked him the same question, he just looked at me and smiled. The next day I met him again at the collection centre and he didn’t get his visa; 11k down the drain.

As usual I spent my time at the airport reading through travel guides of the place I was going to, making notes on my phone as to what I should see. I wrote the following;
“First floor Denon wing for Italian and Spanish, First floor Sully Wing for Egyptian. (Referring to the sections of Le Louvre). Montmartre for dinner, Moulin Rouge opposite Blanche Metro St. Marche Beauvau near Le Bastille, Marais for architecture.”
A stroke of luck saw me upgraded on the overbooked flight to Dubai. I thought I’d practice my very rusty French and order some Bordeaux wine while I watched the Namesake. About a year ago I read the book, and as usual the film was struggling to match up. There was a quick transit in Dubai and several episodes of “How I met your mother” later, it was announced that we were beginning the descent to Charles de Gaulle. As expected the first landmark I recognized was Le Tour Eiffel, lit up and sparkling like a nila koora. Immigration and customs was quick despite the customs lady speaking to me entirely in French and my forgetting the word for clothes. I was told to take a bus to the city centre and take a cab from there to the conference centre. I only had 50 Euro notes on me so I didn’t have change for the 14E ticket for the bus, and nor did the driver. The driver for the night was easily the cutest bus driver I’ve ever come across, she reminded me of a short haired Winona Ryder in jeans and a black leather jacket. Despite an initial “non non non” when I produced my 50E, she was sweet enough to let me off without paying when we got to Gare Montparnasse. It was around 10.30pm by now but I thought I’d try take a train and then a bus to Sèvres where the meeting was due to be held. Unfortunately the trains had just stopped running so I had to take a cab. There was a huge queue for cabs at the train station and it was midnight by the time I got to my room. I learned later that there had been a cab strike in Paris that day and I was lucky to find a cab at all. No chance of food at that hour so I had a shower and hit the sack.

Breakfast the next morning was a confusing affair. It was self service and the only stuff available were a few croissants, baguettes, butter, cheese, bananas and coffee. I thought this must be starters or something when I was reminded by the lady I sat with that breakfast in France is traditionally very light (Petit déjeuner - makes sense). Work began in earnest after catching up with some familiar faces from London over coffee. The sessions were in English and French, with simultaneous translations. I was sad to find that I could barely follow any of the French despite being quite good at the language about a decade ago. Mercifully lunch was early, terminating my hypoglycaemia. I had lunch with an Austrian girl and two chaps from Malawi. Wine was served with lunch, and a few glasses combined with limited food in the system gave me the giggles. Lunch itself was very decent - chicken in white wine and cheesy potatoes - nice. The rest of the day was interesting, despite it not being my pet subject, and well structured - the OECD boys and girls had clearly done their homework. Dinner that night was to be on Le Paris - a boat that cruises along the Seine for two hours - it promised to be great fun.

The dress code said casual so I showed up in shirt and jeans, only to find everyone else in dinner jackets and proper trousers. I never seem to learn that dress codes mean nothing in these things. I ran back up and quickly changed. We got onto the boat just next to the Eiffel Tower. It was wonderful seeing it from so close - I was glad the boat took a while to leave bc I was able to stand and admire it for sometime, marveling at its sheer magnitude and opulence (which almost resulted in the French destroying it). I could see lifts going up and down the tower and tried to imagine the view from up there at this time - full moon and all, beautiful. I was lucky to be seated next to a Frenchman and German at dinner, the former gave a live commentary of the sights on the bank of the Seine and the latter provided witty anecdotes that the Frenchman would never have divulged. We sailed past Notre Dame on the tiny island (Île de la Cité) from which the Romans began to develop Paris, Le Louvre, Le Musée d’Orsay which I was told was a better bet than Le Louvre as much for its content as for its architecture - the museum is a converted railway station, following the closure of the station after a train crashed right through it and ended up jutting out over the Seine. My first taste of Paris was wonderful. I loved the architecture of the various buildings mingled with the anecdotes, the images conjured in my mind of dancing on the little stages lining the bank of the river during summer, the stories of revolution, Bohemian culture and romance - it all felt so real, so possible. It was funny to hear that the Minister of Finance (or was it defence?) goes to work by boat, in fact we saw his boat moored next to the lift to his office over the river. Dinner itself was excellent - there was an avocado salad, steak, lots of great wine, cheese and coffee. The two and a half hours literally sailed by.

The next morning I was more prepared for breakfast and was able to better enjoy the wonderful flavour of the French bread which can so easily be eaten plain. Over lunch one of the organisers who I had made friends with in London came and asked me if I had considered a career in rap. I was puzzled for a second but then realised that he was referring to my express speaking - I tend to talk fast at the best of times, and when I do so in public it gets that much worse. Lunch was interesting bc of the types of cheese on offer. There was authentic blue cheese with live fungus. I was advised to eat the camembert first since it’s a lot smoother and milder. And it was. After some apprehension I went ahead with the blue cheese, and it was surprisingly good. I’m not a big fan of cheese but it had strong, diverse flavours - and it went down beautifully with the wine. The conference ended on the 2nd day on a decent note, I had learned a fair bit and contributed, if in rapid-fire mode. We wound up around 6 and I was feeling the effects of jet lag. To my shame I was tempted to stay in and make an extra early start tomorrow, but fortunately I came to my senses and headed downstairs to figure out the best way to get into the city and earmark some place to have dinner. I had a pretty hopeless map - it was a Paris transport map which gave no indication of roads but only of metro and rail stations. While I was trying to figure the map out I was joined by a Bangladeshi couple who had attended the conference. The lady asked me if I had been in Paris before, I said no and she sat me down saying they had lived in Paris for 5 years. A stroke of luck. She suggested I spend the evening in Opéra and told me how to get there using the underground system. They were also on their way to the City so I joined them. I took their advice and purchased a Carnet for 11E which entitled me to 10 journeys by bus or train within the city.

The Paris underground system is pretty simple - it has 14 lines and each is referred to by its number, so you just need to know the first and last stations in the line. As soon as I was on the train I felt like I was in London, twenty somethings with their ipods shutting out the rest of the world, others buried in their books, couples buried in each other - I barely felt the 20mins ride to the city centre. Getting off the train I registered landmarks so that I can find my way back to the station. It didn’t take long to come across the fabulous Paris Opéra. The large building was adorned with intricate sculptures, long columns and delicate touches of gold in an opulent but classy manner. It was stunning at night against the navy blue sky and the moon lighting it up quite beautifully. I admired it from several angles and cursed that I couldn’t take a perfect photograph of it without blurs. The picture in my mind would have to suffice until it is erased by time. I kept looking back at it as I walked away to etch its image in my memory. The wide road led towards a brightly lit building with a sign that read Hotel Du Louvre, so I thought I’d follow the bright lights. The buildings lining the road were tall, proud and looked very dignified. I didn’t give into the temptation to explore each and every little alley that led to narrow little streets lined with cafes and bars, if I did I would have been there all night, and I was hungry.

I finally reached Hotel du Louvre after what seemed an eternity. The immediate area was full of posh restaurants so I walked along till I came across Le Louvre itself. I didn’t know that this was only the back entrance, but it was quite a sight in its own right. I backtracked to a cafe that had plenty of locals and decided to eat there. The waiter spoke English which was a give away that this was a tourist spot. Nonetheless it was a great place to sit down for a meal, outdoors and just near a busy roundabout - full of pedestrians, motor traffic and ppl on bicycles. I ordered Canard avec Pommes de Terre (duck and potatoes), one of the house specials, and it was excellent. The duck was nice and crispy if slightly dry, but it was well flavoured. The potatoes were nice and cheesy, and went well with the baguette served on the side. I spent a long time sitting there, eating slowly, watching the city move by. Lots of tourists went passed, pouring over maps, speaking different languages, wearing different skin colours - all trying to emerse themselves in the magic of Paris. The friendly waiter asked if I want coffee, I had an espresso and made my way back. As usual the walk back feels much shorter than the walk up, and just as I reached Opera I took a detour towards some lively looking road to the right. And lively it was. Loads of ppl were walking up and down, there were plenty of smaller scale restaurants and bars, ppl watching the rugby, and others just having a chat. I walked along enjoying the sights and sounds of big city life, loving the anonymity, the atmosphere. It reminded me of some parts of Soho in London. I came across a tiny little alley opposite the Hard Rock Cafe. It was an alley within a building and most of the shops and restaurants had closed, but there was one that was open and it was full of life. There were plenty of locals, the place was cozy, buzzing with conversation and the food smelled great. I wished I had eaten here and made a note to try and visit it the next day. I moved on down another road and found a van selling crêpes. I had a crêpe sucre which was deliciously wrapped into a cone, but it was a bit too much to handle so unfortunately I had to chuck half of it. It was almost midnight by now so I decided to head back. The underground was quick and easy and as I waited to for the bus to the conference centre in Sèvres I ran into the Bangladeshi couple returning from their function. They were very glad to see me and the lady said that she was worried that I may get lost. I was touched by their concern, it wasn’t the first time I had experienced Bangladeshi kindness. I was pretty tired when I got back to my room, it was going to be a long day tomorrow; Champs Elysses, Le Louvre, Notre Dame, Montmartre and Latin Quarter were on the agenda - a lot to cover in a day. As I was falling asleep I quietly prayed for sunshine. Bon nuit Paris.

Just before I left Colombo I asked a couple of friends who had just been to Thailand how best I should spend my full free day there. “Kanchanaburi” they said in unison. They explained that this was a temple just outside Bangkok where the priests rehabilitate tigers rescued from poachers. I recalled seeing something like this on Nat Geo and it seemed right up my street. I wrote notes on my phone on how best to get there; “South bus terminal BKK, 2.5 hours by bus to K’buri, take a car from the tourist info spot and keep the car till you return.” I woke up early on my last day and had a quick breakfast with Fernie so that we can get to the Southern bus terminal by 10. We had to get to the temple by 1pm and not before that since that’s the time the tigers are released. We thought it’ll be worthwhile just asking the hotel for some advice, and at the reception they said that it takes at least an hour to get to the Southern bus terminal, and the journey would take 4 hours by bus, which would mean 10 hours journey back and forth. That information completely deflated me, however they offered the hotel car which could do the journey in 2 hours each way, plus having the car at hand to travel all the way to the temple, not just to Kanchanaburi town. This sounded sketchy, and when he said it’ll cost 4k I knew it was a ridiculous offer. Having convinced them that I will not use the hotel car under those conditions, I asked the reception whether there was any other way to get to Kanchanaburi, the receptionist shrugged and suggested the only other option was to try my luck with a travel agent on Khao San road. It was close to ten and the Kanchanaburi idea seemed to be fizzling out. In the back of my head I was considering alternative ways of spending the day in BKK. I was waiting in the lobby for Fernie when 4 young backpackers were checking out of the hotel. I tried my luck and asked one of them whether they knew of a way to get to Kanchanaburi by 1pm. By some amazing chance the girl said, “hey we’re just going there now, the bus is leaving Khao San road at 10.” I was thrilled, I looked at my watch and it was 9.45, shit, where the hell was Fernie? The backpackers left and I stood outside the lift waiting for Fernie, the doors opened and there he stood grinning, I all but dragged him out the doors explaining the plan on the way. Fernie wasn’t too hot on the temple but since I accompanied him the previous night he was happy to tag along. We hopped a bus to Khao San and got there at 9.55, he took one side of the road and I took the other as we looked for travel agents.

The first agent I found was closed but a sweeper took me to another one further down and between gasps for air I asked the lady at the desk whether there are buses to Kanchanaburi. She grinned and said “all buses to Khao San are full sir, they all go at 7am.” For the second time my heart sank. “But there’s one leaving at 10, I know that for sure” I said, she shrugged, and I took off, hoping Fernie had better luck. Khao San was quite dead, still recovering from the previous night’s partying, it was very quiet and fresh after the rain. Fernie showed up, bottom lip out and hands inside out in a typical Sri Lankan “empty” gesture. It was 10am and I had just about given up hope when out of the corner of my eye I saw the backpackers from our hotel sitting outside a small store, studying a map. I ran towards them, and the girl I spoke to earlier smiled and said they’re waiting here for the bus and that I should try get a ticket from the same travel agent. I spoke to the travel agent, praying for a final piece of luck. The girl told me to wait and started hammering away at her keyboard, “yes sir I have last 2 ticket for you, leaving in 5 mins, bus will be here, you wait outside please, 200 Baht each.” I could have hugged her, I was absolutely thrilled. I paid and gave Fernie the good news, he was genuinely happy for me more than anything else. The van was full to capacity, carrying 10 ppl including the driver. We drove through the back alleys of Khao San road, and I realised how much of it we didn’t see on that 2nd night. Travelers were lazily waking up and having breakfast as we drove passed them. Just as we got on to the highway the driver put on a tape, “..bound by wild desire I fell into a burning ring of fire, I went down down down, and the flames went higher..” the girl next to me said “Woo! Johnny Cash!” and we were off.

As we left the city we passed a series of fabulous large houses that looked like a hybrid of British Colonial and American country houses. The Dutch girl next to me was trying her hand at Sudoku and she was struggling a bit. I was rudely watching her do it and eventually she gave it to me and I spent the next several minutes undoing her mistakes and solving the rest of the puzzle. Almost three hours later we got to Kanchanaburi and stopped at a place called the Bamboo House. Fernie and I were supposed to find our own way from here to the temple, and at the Bamboo house we asked the chap in charge how best to go about it. He said there’s a vehicle going to the temple in an hour from here and for a total of 350 Baht it will also take us back to BKK. This would be perfect so we relaxed at the Bamboo house for an hour and had a bite to eat. The place was fabulous, located on the grassy banks of the Kwai river, within site of the famous bridge. There are something like 4 little wooden chalets on the bank of the river and two more floating on the river, all ranging from 150-300 Baht a night. I got chatting with an Irish guy over lunch, he is traveling across South East Asia teaching English along the way. He was typically laid back and easy to talk to. We were soon joined by the cutest dog who would put his paw on my knee every two mins to ask for a titbit off my plate. I was sucking one of those red flowers whose stems have honey and I shared these with the pup who wasn’t quite taken up by it. I had a look at the Bridge on the river Kwai and told whoever would listen that the movie was filmed in Kitulgala - doing my bit to help tourism in SL.

The hour flew by and soon there were 8 of us in a van on the way to the tiger temple. At the entrance the pungent animal smell was everywhere, I paid 300 Baht and signed a form that stated that I understand that the animals are wild and dangerous and that I take full responsibility for any bodily harm that befalls me and the temple will not be liable in case of my death. Nice. Fernie, Ron and I stayed together and first went towards the Tiger Valley. It was scorching hot and there were other animals roaming around; dear, cows, wildboar and peacocks. We got to the valley and there they were. About 9 tigers lying on the ground, tethered to the ground by a chain but with only a rope between them and the 15-20 tourists who had gathered around. There were caretakers and volunteers in yellow shirts guiding the visitors from one tiger to another, touching them, petting them. We were told that we can not see the tigers wearing “hot” colours such as orange and red, luckily I was in beige and blue. After a few minutes gathering my courage I stepped up to go see the tigers. I was told not to make any sudden movements and to always be with the caretaker. The caretaker came to me and held my hand and took me inside. I felt like a child. Helpless amidst these powerful majestic creatures. But the caretakers were really nice, there was a lot of love and tenderness in the atmosphere, between the caretakers and the tigers and also the gentle way in which the caretakers handle you. We walked up behind the first tiger and the caretaker pushed me down slowly by my shoulder till I was kneeling beside the tiger who was lying down. My heart was beating rapidly, not out of fear but out of excitement and joy, I reached out and touched his fur, and stroked his back. He was massive, and could have killed me with one swat, but he just looked straight ahead, panting in the heat, relaxed. The caretaker took my camera and took a picture of me with the tiger. He then took my hand and led me to the next tiger and again I slowly knelt down next to it and stroked it. I wanted time to stop, to just be in this moment with the world’s most majestic animal for as long as I could. I did this with 6 of the tigers, and it was easily one of the best experiences in my life.

There’s a fair amount of controversy about the treatment of the tigers in Kanchanaburi. Some feel that they are sedated to ensure they are not aggressive, pointing to the fact that they are lethargic when brought to tiger valley, and that caretakers sprinkle water on them to keep them awake. But the priests and caretakers say that the animals are docile bc they trust the caretakers and are very used to human contact, they are lethargic bc they are nocturnal animals used to sleeping during the day and water is sprinkled on them to keep them from getting dehydrated in the heat. I personally found them to be rather alert and not abnormally lethargic; and particularly when they were being brought back to their enclosures in the evening they were very active and vocal. But I don’t think I know enough to make an educated judgement; there’s more discussion in the Kanchanaburi section in thorntree.com. We left Tiger valley and headed up along the path where we found the cutest tiger cub being brought out for his bath. The fellow was a bundle of joy and mischief and reminded me so much of a puppy. He loved the water, playing around and stalking the floating bottle and whatever else the caretaker threw in for him to play with. After dancing around in the mini-pond, posing for pictures and loving the attention, the caretaker thoroughly rubbed him down with a towel. Just as he was dry he promptly jumped up and dived back into the water and looked back with what I swear was a grin. The cub was child-like in the way he found everything to be a delightful mystery and source of excitement; even the most mundane items like hairbands and rubber slippers. He was the star of the show, but a close second was his caretaker. I’ve never seen so much love between a caretaker and his charge, he treated the cub like his own child, and didn’t mind at all when the cub’s paws accidentally scraped him. He showed us his arm which was scarred from top to bottom due to such accidents. It was a privilege to witness such a relationship. The cub was eventually given his milk and taken away to get some rest.

A couple of priests had joined us and strangely I noticed they had catapults in their hands. Being young priests I thought they might be a bit mischievous themselves. But to my shock they began taking shots at the wildboars who were loitering in the area. I was confused but didn’t really want to question anything. My silent questions were answered by a huge roar that shook the forest like area. The tigers were being brought back from tiger valley. The priests were shooting at the wildboars to chase them out of the tigers’ line of sight. One by one the tigers were led back by the head priest and a series of volunteers and tourists behind them. The size and power of the tigers became more apparent as they passed by close to us. I crouched down to take a picture when one of the caretakers ran up to me and pulled me up. I was confused and he told me never to crouch down when the tigers are walking back bc as long as they know we’re human they will not attack, but when we crouch down we’re less like humans. As the head priest passed by one of the caretakers asked if anyone wanted to lead the tiger. I jumped at the idea and was taken alongside the priest and he gave me the tiger’s lead and for a minute or so I guided the tiger back to his enclosure. He was strong and I was awe struck just by being in that position. He stopped next to a tree and someone shouted from behind “He’s going to pee!” and everyone took evasive action as the tiger marked his territory in customary fashion. All the tigers were back in their enclosures and it was time for the other animals to get fed.

3 trucks came up and started unloading loads of vegetables onto the ground, and from all corners the herbivores came running up to the trucks. There were buffalo, cows, deer, wildboar, goats - the works. It was a feeding frenzy as all the animals made for the food - from the biggest and scariest looking buffalo to the tiniest wild piglet who scampered as fast as its little legs would carry it. It was yet another special experience being surrounded by all these animals and watching them gorge. By the time the feeding was over it was almost 5 so it was time to head back to the van and return to Bangkok. I was really sad to leave Kanchanaburi, it had been a quite fabulous and lucky day. There were 6 of us heading back to BKK and unlike on the way up, the returning van’s entertainment included a terrible ’90s action flick followed by some disastrous Thai pop music. Sleep was impossible so I ended up closing my eyes and reliving the day’s events. We were scheduled to leave for Colombo before sunrise the next morning so after a quick meal on Khao San road we headed back to the hotel to get some sleep. My second trip to Thailand had come to an end; and I find myself enjoying the country more and more each time.

The presentation went well, I was a bit nervous bc I didn’t have in depth knowledge of this subject and was relying on a few days reading. But luckily the questions were manageable and Fernie gave me a thumbs up and a grin from his seat when I had finished. We wound up around 5ish and Fernie wanted to explore Phat Pong. But first he wanted to visit the nearby fruit market to load up and take back home. The market was quite dirty and the recent rains had made it quite muddy too. Judging by the sky further rain was on the cards. There were loads of different types of fruits, and Fernie was having a ball bargaining down to the last Baht. We left with three bags full of stuff I’ve never heard of let alone seen before. I asked him how he plans to get these through customs, he smiled wryly and said that he won’t be checked bc he’s on a diplomatic passport. Classy. It started to rain so I suggested we take a tuktuk to Phat pong instead of a bus; it’s not like we hadn’t experienced the bus before, and with a bus there’s every chance we’d have to walk a lot and get soaked in the process. But Fernie was pretty keen on saving the 50 or so Baht by taking a bus. So we stood in the half covered bus stand waiting for the number 31 to find its way through the bumper-bumper traffic. We finally caught one and quickly asked a youngish chap where to hop off in order to get to PP. He scratched his head and said to get off at the first stop and then catch a different bus from the next bus stop. Not too bad if it hadn’t been raining, Fernie seemed pleased but I scowled at him when his back was turned as the salty water dripped down my eyes.

As soon as we jumped off the bus I knew something was wrong - we were still on the wrong side of the waterway. But the chap did say first bus stop. We ran to our left hoping the next bus stop was close enough. By now we were soaked and I was not happy, but consoled myself with the notion that it’s all part of the adventure. We finally reached the next bus stop and the bus we wanted didn’t seem to stop there. None of the others at the stand spoke any English so we had no chance. Fernie suggested we just get on the next bus and ask the conductor. With minimal expectations we got in and the conductor shook his head as we said “Phat pong, phat pong?” but he took our money anyway. Walking down the bus we looked for youngish ppl who are more likely to speak English; and one guy said that we were way off track. He suggested we get off near MBK mall and take a sky train. Looking at the map it seemed to make sense, finally a breakthrough. I had been to MBK before and I hate malls but Fernie had never been so we went in for a bit. Fernie wanted to buy some perfume for some bird so we were looking around in the perfume section and he went up to the counter and asked, “you have Boss? you know Boss?” The girl at the counter looked confused, so I said Hugo Boss, and she shook her head. There were loads of other brands; Kleine, Davidoff, Prada, but Fernie was insistent, “Can’t get some ohey thing no, must get something ppl recognize, otherwise will think I didn’t bother to spend no? If they don’t have Boss let’s go, useless fellows.” Works for me.

The skytrain station was very impressive; there are great views, no traffic and the station is clean and simple. We ran into a Brit who was trying to get to the Bangkok Thai Boxing Stadium. Fernie insisted I take a picture of him hugging the Brit, who looked quite confused by our antics. We got out at Sala Daeng and walked towards Phat Pong, this time we asked suddas for directions and we had much better luck. Maybe the Thais call it something else. We missed the road the first time, but we were obviously close given the tell-tale touristy shops. One place stood out though, a guy was making carvings of flowers out of soap - they were amazingly well detailed, and he did each one so fast. We were directed to Phat Pong road and as soon as we walked in we were greeted by numerous offers. “you want fucky fucky? just looking is free.” Fernie shot back; “if i want i will pay and do more than just looking!” This was greeted by a blank stare and we walked off. The road was flanked by strip bars on one side with girls pole dancing in their underwear and on the other side by stalls selling jewelery and other paraphernalia. I didn’t feel comfortable as the touts all but dragged you into their respective joints, all saying “fucky fucky? massage?”. We didn’t hang around for long and quickly left to find some food.

A Hong Kong sea food restaurant had some fabulous looking crab so we treated ourselves to a super meal washed down with a pot of Chinese tea. Fernie was contemplating a massage to “relax” and to help with his diabetes. I told him to go ahead while struggling to hold down a guffaw, but in the end he probably felt shy. We finished the night by walking passed the real red light street, where girls were lined up outside buildings, well dressed and looking relaxed, chatting to one another. They all had a number pinned to their dress and nearer to the road the madams stood with boards indicated pictures of the girls and their respective numbers. The clients choose a number and the girl is delivered. Most of the clients were sleazy old oriental men (probably Japs). While Phat pong road is more fun and games, this was somehow more cold, serious and businesslike. Both places disturbed me to an extent and I was glad when we left the general area. Even as we were trying to hail down a cab to get back to the hotel there were chaps walking on the pavement showing little boards with the words “DVD Sex” written on them. It was late when we got back to the hotel, I was tired and had to be up reasonably early the next morning to try our luck getting to Kanchanaburi.

I woke up in a dilemma. It was a Sunday, technically a day off, but I hadn’t done a slide of my powerpoint for the next morning, plus I had some research gaps to fill. But it isn’t always you get a day off in Bangkok, so I thought it’ll be worthwhile even burning a bit of midnight oil if I can get some quality exploring done. I met Fernie for the breakfast buffet which was strikingly similar to that from my previous visit to this hotel 2 years ago. That first time was a major culture shock for me, I still remember getting into the hotel late on my first night and walking downstairs to reception to find a restaurant close-by. The bellboy said, “No sir everywhere closed now. Can I help you with anything else? you want lady? massage?” I really didn’t except to be offered lady massage by the hotel reception so I hastily abandoned feeding plans and ordered room service to accompany HBO, half an eye on the door expecting a knock and further offers of dubious company.

Anyway, after breakfast Fernie and I studied his map and circled a bunch of places that we thought would be good to visit. These included Chatuchak weekend market, Yao Wa Rat (Chinatown), Grand Palace, Khao San road, Phatpong and Wat Phra Kaew (emerald Buddha). Before examining the map we asked the reception whether they have any special tours that cover the entire day, the guy suggested the package including the floating market, rose garden and elephant show - all for a bargain price of B 4000 (but for us special discount of B 3500). Out of curiosity I asked him if they have tours to Kanchanaburi (a place recommended by my backpacking friends), and he said that can’t be done in one day since it’s too far. This was completely contrary to what my friends had told me, and it was clear that the hotel wanted nothing more than to take the shirts off our back, and it was obvious that we were on our own. We separated night time places and day time places made a rough plan for the next few days. The plan for Sunday was to find our way to the Grand Palace and the Emerald Buddha and to drop into Khao San in the evening. Fernie seemed pleased and said, “Must go to red light area also ah, just to see ah! must experience these things no?” I smiled and nodded. As we left the hotel armed with passports, wallets and bata slippers, Fernie patted the map in his shirt pocket and said, “This is our Bible.”

There’s a small waterway that runs next to the hotel, continuing through most of Central Bangkok with public boats travelling along it. A glance at the map suggested that it might take us some way towards our first planned destination so we thought it’ll be much more interesting than a bus or cab. The biggest problem getting around BKK is communication, the average Thai speaks no English other than a few key words like massage and sex. Even pointing at the destination on the map and asking for directions did not always yield positive results. Luckily the map we had had the names of places in Thai in really really small print, so we managed to get a guy to tell us which boat to catch. The houses along the waterway looked really small and cramped, much like those I had seen lining waterways in Manila. The boat ride was fun, lots of splashing and noise but we didn’t get wet, and at the very first stop everyone got off, and the conductor gesticulated for us to leave as well. It turned out we had gotten on at the penultimate stop and this was the end of the road. We weren’t asked to pay anything and a quick glance at the map suggested we were within dashing distance of a couple of temples.

The first temple we walked into was Loha Prasat, a tall black monument that looked fragile and delicate. I’ve never been a fan on Thai temples, they’re much too opulent for my taste, and this was much the same but I was able to climb all the way to the top for a not so exciting view of the city. Just before we entered the temple we were approached by a friendly sort of local who asked where we’re from and started off on a brief history of the place. He then said this temple is closed now bc of some ceremony and pointed out a place on our map that we should visit. He seemed much too eager so we politely thanked him for his advice and correctly decided to brave the non-existent ceremony. Just across the waterway was the Golden Mount temple, Wat Saket. This was located in what resembled an artificial forest. After climbing the short but numerous steps to the stupa we paid 10 Bhat and entered the building. A mini stupa was bang in the centre and ppl kept pasting real gold along the walls of this mini stupa for good luck, over the years this pasting had come to shape the stupa. On the way out there were ppl ringing the numerous bells that lined the path towards the temple, again for good luck. Fernie, in a moment of inspiration, said that there’s no need for ringing bells and pasting gold for good luck, honest hard work is what you need. Said like a true govt servant.

A tuk tuk took us to the Grand Palace and the Emerald Buddha, but having reached the place Fernie wasn’t keen on paying the 250 Bhat for entrance so we pottered around a bit before wandering back out. Just outside the compound there was an old lady seated on the ground with two middle aged ladies in front of her, each holding little cages with birds in them. The old lady was a fortune teller of sorts and was gesticulating wildly, in curiosity I moved towards her and took a few photographs, just then a cage was opened and one of the little birds flew out. It seemed to be another pursuit of good luck. The birds in all probability fly back to the old lady after a few minutes, a pretty sensible business. We decided to walk back towards the hotel since it was late afternoon and Fernie felt the need to have a nap. On the way back I discovered the reason for all the pursuit of good luck. There was an entire street lined with lottery sellers, and everyone was buying. At the rate the bells were being rung earlier I’d be surprised if the venture was profitable though. The street food was tempting but since I had to present the next day I had to refrain, it would not go down too well if i had to run to the toilet mid-sentence. I tried to take a picture of one old lady selling fried bananas but she seemed taken aback and afraid so I put my hand up and placed the camera away, she smiled and bowed. The walk back was long but it gave us a good chance to see the city, including a flea market and a road that reeked with the smell of urine emanating from damp patches at the foot of the walls. I’d have a couple of free hours in the hotel to work on my presentation, and if I worked well I’d get through almost all of it before heading out again for dinner.

Thankfully I finished writing up my powerpoint pretty quickly, and felt that rewards were due. It was dusk and my stomach began to complain about the lack of attention. The morning’s exploration gave Fernie and I more confidence in getting around BKK. Armed with the map we set off for Khao San road. From what I was told by my friend at the airport, Khao San sounded pretty good, and I was hoping for something lively to compensate for the previous night’s quietness. I had made a note in my phone that read “Ko San Road”, but the map had the proper spelling and it seemed quite closeby so we decided to try the bus. A youngish guy at the bus stand told us which bus to take, and when we got in and asked a passenger he confirmed it and told us when to jump off. The bus dropped us a hop, skip and jump from Khao San and we were pretty pleased that we went with the bus option rather than a tuk tuk - the risk of failure makes it a bit more interesting. As we turned the corner ppl were streaming in and out of Khao San, music could be heard all around, and it began to drizzle.

Khao San is a typical backpacker street that you find in pretty much every city/town frequented by backpackers. I could draw comparisons to Varakal in Kerala, Thamil in Katmandu and even to a lesser extent places like Hikkaduwa. You find the same stuff as you’d find in these places - Westernized restaurants catering to young Western backpackers offering pizza, international beer and milder Asian food, loads of shops selling pirated CDs, T-shirts parodying standard brands,necklaces and other generic neo-hippie paraphernalia. But Khao San road was far more intense, and felt like it belonged in a major capital city rather than a beach town. There was loud neon lighting, street vendors selling everything from fake IDs to wooden frogs allegedly originating from Tibet, techno pumping from every other shop, Thai girls in short skirts promoting what looked like underground bars and a even little hair dresser doing instant dreds. Another thing that surprised me was the “minibars” that seemed to freelance on the main road. These simply comprised of a desk with bottles of alcohol piled one behind the other and all lit up, just like a bar. The sign at the bottom read “Cocktails” and in smaller print just below “very strong - 80B. There were clusters of chairs seating foreigners with their very strong cocktails, looking pleased with life. Fernie and I were thrilled with the step up from the previous evening - this is what we expected of Bangkok, hustle and bustle, music, atmosphere - life. The rain began to intensify so after a fair amount of wandering around we decided to get some food. I usually have difficulty making choices on menus, and this time I had difficulty with choosing a restaurant to start with since there were so many options. We both wanted something local but it was unlikely to find authentic Thai food at Khao San road. But we were fairly lucky in finding a nice place right at the far end of the road. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant but it was part of a small cluster consisting of a sea food restaurant, an ice cream/drinks parlour and a more upmarket coffee house. I went with a coconut milk based Tom Yum Kum, boiled rice, frogs legs in basil and kaffir lime leaves and veges in green curry, all washed down with a fabulous lemon grass iced tea. The food was great - the classic blend of corriander, kaffir lime and basil with just enough chillie to give it that kick. I was more than satisfied.

The rain had eased so we quietly moved out towards one of the other branches of Khao San road. We passed a vendor selling pancakes and crepes, and just then the song changed in the next shop to Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson. I considered buying a pair of fisherman’s trousers since I’ve always wanted a pair, but I felt I’d get a better deal from a less touristy area. While I was browsing through the comfortable and colourful shirts available, a girl from a stall in the opposite aisle shouted out, “Sir you want Thai massage?” I turned around, smiled and shook my head, and she smiled back and said “No problem, thank you for smiling.” I thought it was a nice touch and smiled some more. As we walked around we passed a bar called “Bar Siddhartha” and Fernie got all fanatic saying he’s heard about places belittling the name of the Buddha but this was apparently the first time he’d seen one. He took a photograph for evidence but was dismayed that the neon signpost just came up as a blur on his screen. I stopped in a couple of the CD outlets on the main road while Fernie went to find toothpaste. There were loads of Buddha Bar and Cafe Del Mar CDs but I was more interested in getting some Hotel Costes. I asked the vendor; “You have any Hotel Costes?” He looked perplexed, I repeated my request and he shook his head and called his assistant who asked me what exactly I wanted but he too didn’t seem to know what I wanted. I tried again, this time pronouncing the last ’s’; “Hotel CosteSSS, like Buddah Bar/Cafe Del Mar?” their eyes lit up; “Ahh Hotel CosteSSS, say so man” and out came 6 CDs of which I picked a couple and made off. It was quite late and since we’d have to wake up early the next day (taking into account the remainder of jet lag from traveling east), we decided to head home. The bus on the way back was less crowded and nobody understood where we wanted to go. I tried a couple of landmarks that I scratched up from my memory and finally struck a chord with the conductor who told us when to get off. A long shower felt fabulous and I finished off the day fine tuning my powerpoint whilst sampling the CDs I picked up. They were fabulous and would go down very well on a night in unawatuna or Arugam Bay. After an hour or so I felt good about my presentation and decided to get some sleep. Things were falling into place nicely.

After a hectic May-June I was hoping to settle into a quieter July. It did seem that way till I was told to go to Bangkok bc a colleague had fallen ill and I had to fill in. I wasn’t thrilled bc I had no part in the project so had a lot of catching up to make it a decent presentation. The action was set for Monday and Tuesday so I was due to fly on Sunday, and naturally it was with some surprise that when I picked up my ticket on friday I read departure Saturday and arrival Thursday. At the time two extra days in Thailand did not feel like a good thing, it meant I had no time to get some forex and I had barely started my powerpoint. It would be my second time in Bangkok, the first time was much fun bc it was for some training thing with a whole set of young fellows from all over Asia and we went around town a fair bit each evening. This time the crowd would be older and the work more serious so I was less optimistic on prospects. That said, I met a couple of friends who had just spent 2 weeks backpacking around Thailand and I made a few notes on my wrist over a few drinks before leaving on friday night. Having cut short the night I woke up early on saturday and made my way to the airport, the only positive was meeting another well travelled friend who gave me a few more BKK tips (including the fabulous Khao San road). The guy at emigration sneezed unapologetically on my brand new passport, and I spent the last hour or so browsing through travel guides in the airport bookshop looking for last minute hints of how best to enjoy Bangkok.

There was a massive queue at immigration in the new Suvarnabhumi airport, and the guy from Trinco who sat next to me on the plane was whistling at every other brown girl asking “India? Lanka? Sinhala? Thamil?” I had my plate full as I kept my eyes open for the guy from DoC who was due to represent GoSL at this conference. It shouldn’t be too tough to spot a typical Lankan govt servant in an international airport, but I was a bit shy to go tap on the shoulders of the two guys I had shortlisted. The meter taxi set me back 470 bhat and within 40mins I was in the hotel room, channel flipping to discover 6 thai channels, Russia Today, some branch of the bible channel and Michel Adam presents - Fashion TV. Great. A long shower cheered me up and I was thinking about dinner when the phone rang and a Sri Lankan voice at the other end greeted me as if we were childhood friends, “ahh ddm! welcome to BKK, how? shall we go get a bite in a bit?” It was the DoC chap who I had spoken to once in Colombo over the phone. We agreed to meet at the lobby in half an hour.

He stepped out of the lift and I was correct in my shortlist. As we left the hotel the bellboy asked where we’re going, and our friend (let’s call him Fernie) rubbed his tummy and said “for a small loaf and then to eat something.” The bell boy understood only the rubbing of the tummy and said “no food around here, only hotel, or have to take taxi.” We shrugged and went anyway. Unfortunately, we had just failed to heed the only truth that would be uttered by the hotel staff for the entire duration of the trip. After walking around in the dark there was literally bugger all to eat bar the evening remnants of the neighbouring fruit market and some thoroughly dodgy looking street satays.

After close to an hour meandering between alleys we spotted a tiny little outlet that looked more like a living room that had spilled onto the street. Opposite were a group of young men and women sitting on a car drinking Singha beer, smoking and chatting peacefully. There was a container in front of this living room with 4 compartments containing some pale looking shrimps, fish and squid. A quick look around and we saw a wok and some spices, this would have to do. Fernie asked him whether we can have rice. Blank looks from the man at the desk who I guessed was chef/waiter/father/cashier. I pointed at the squid and then the frying pain and made sizzling noises, his eyes lit up and said something in Thai, but his gesticulations suggested that he understood that we want to eat. We still couldn’t explain that we wanted stir fried sea food with rice and preferably some veges. Then mid-sentence I picked up the words “Tom Yum” and i quickly said ahh tom yum soup! By then 3 ppl had gathered around the chef and there was collective excitement at the communications breakthrough. Things progressed rapidly from there, but we didn’t really know what we were going to eat until the dishes appeared on the table. It was a pretty good deal in the end, Tom Yum soup with the days last sea food, some stir fried veges with the last of the shrimp and boiled rice. It was tasty if not mind blowing, but way better than we had expected. Fernie insisted on some fruit to combat the ushnathwaya of the shrimp and squid, so on the way back to the hotel we picked up some fabulous Thai jumbu from the fruit market. On a parting note Fernie suggested we spend Sunday exploring the town with the aid of a map he had picked up at the airport. He was clearly better prepared than I was, specially since my wrist notes had faded away faster than a nightclub stamp. It was a surprisingly pleasant start to the trip and I crashed quite early, tired from lack of sleep and the stress of the last couple of days.