This “Germadian” (German-Canadian, as coined by my wife) has traveled all over the world. Each month, I will share with you my adventures in a different locale; each month I hope to make you smile and think and dream...

I awake to a sweet, nasally accented female voice on the telephone advising me that it is 7:00 a.m. The sun streams into my room through diaphanous curtains, creating abstract patterns and motifs on the rug and walls. Glancing at my watch, I know I have about 30 minutes to do my morning toilette before breakfast is delivered. As semi-conciousness slowly gives way to full conciousness and I survey my surroundings, it is easy to forget where I am; but there are subtle differences which filter into my awareness: some of the furniture is rattan; some of the upholstery is covered with raw silk; the pictures decorating the walls depict scenes which are probably allegories from the Ramayana stories; the fragrance of the soap is a mixture of scents reminiscent of hibiscus and frangipani.

Breakfast reinforces the subtle differences: it is served by an exquisitely pretty young woman dressed in a waist-to-floor length silk sarong with a matching bustier top; the coffee is delicately flavoured with coriander seeds; the papaya slices sprinkled with drops of lime are so fresh one can taste the morning dew on the rind; and, there is a small purple orchid which adorns the butter dish next to my toast.

When I leave the oasis of the Oriental Hotel and step out into the imposing bustle of the city, the raucious cacophony of sounds, the pungent odours assailing the senses and the sheer activity taking place all about quickly remind me that this is Bangkok, capital city of Thailand (formerly Siam). And, to a Westerner, a farang, that is precisely how Bangkok can be summed up: a very potent mixture of subtle differences and sense-numbing, “in-your-face”, blatent contrasts. The two extremes, the subtlety and the blatency, are never far apart here. To local Thais, this juxtaposition is commonplace and of little concern. To a foreigner, it is a situation which requires a bit of adjustment in one’s perception of reality, but, once achieved, one is rewarded with a most delightful and satisfying experience. In Bangkok wonderful photographic opportunities

always present themselves in and around marketplaces and Bangkok’s best markets are situated along the klongs (canals) which interlace the city and feed off the Chao Phya river (“River of Kings”) meandering through it. During the dry season (November to April), when most of the klongs are mere trickles of water in a semi-dry bed of muck, the odour arising from these waterways is excrutiatingly pungent, reminiscent of open sewers and decaying fecal matter. But this countered by the colourful and infinitely varied displays of fresh fruit, vegetables, cloth, furniture, imitation antiques and trinkets for tourists in the floating markets. The faces of the vendors make beautiful subjects for the lens and their interactions with tourists can produce priceless photos.

I hire a slender riverboat (powered by an open propeller attached to a 2-metre metal tube which ends in a small motor and joystick in the hands of the river “pilot”) and lazily drift down the Chao Phya. With telephoto lens in place, I can capture images on both sides of the river: Bangkok on one bank and its sister city (a “suburb”) of Thonburi on the other. The most fascinating image I capture is of a man brushing his teeth at riverside – using the black, brackish water to rinse his mouth!

Bangkok is a deeply spiritual city which revers its Buddhist heritage. This reverence is most dramatically conveyed through the countless wats (temples) which dot the city and the entire countryside. 

From Wat Po with its 49-metre long (!) reclining Buddha to Wat Tramit with its 5½ tonne, 3-metre high solid gold Buddha; from Wat Benchamaborpit built with Italian Carrara marble by King Rama V in 1900 to Wat Phra Keo within the Grand Palace which is home to the 61 cm Emerald Buddha (actually it is pure translucent green jasper), Bangkok plays host to some of the world’s most stunning and unique houses of Buddhist worship. Everywhere the saffron robes and wooden begging bowls of devout monks make their presence felt; everywhere their beatific smiles and humble demeanor infuse the fabric of society; everywhere the populace helps, adores and feeds the monks. Almost every Thai male spends at least two years in a monastery during his youth, learning the meaning of humbleness and devotion.

I wander over to the Dusit Thani Hotel to find refuge from the heat and humidity in a bottle of Singha Thai beer. Half lost in thought while observing the farangs scurry about in search of bargains in silk and sapphires, I am fascinated by the contrast of the smiling, benign, unworried faces of the Thais to the harried, sweating, nervous and sometimes indignant faces of the farangs. An older Thai gentleman sees me sitting, relaxed and at peace, in an armchair, and sidles over in front of me. He bows in my direction, flashes me a toothy grin and moves on. I’ve never seen him before and I never see him again. Very surreal, but also very Thai.

Bangkok is widely regarded as the “sex capital” of the Orient. To a large extent this statement is true (or at least was true until certain incurable venereal diseases started to provide customers of the earthlier pleasures with a souvenir for which they had not bargained) but the underlying reasons for this condition are complex and often horrifying. “Sex tours” from Japan, Germany and elsewhere, along with the hard currency that these provide, have raised the stakes in the game of physical pleasure to the point where pretty, pre-pubescent girls (and some boys), mostly from the countryside, are sold into virtual slavery by poor, unscrupulous parents. These youngsters end up in Bangkok “clubs” catering to the sex trade where they have to “work off” the “debt” incurred by their parents.

Evening is approaching, so I wander down to Patpong, the “entertainment” (read: “red light”) quarter of Bangkok. The drinks here are over-priced, the lighting is garish and loud music blares from cheap Korean or more expensive Japanese loudspeakers. I really do like the girls here: they are very pretty for the most part; many are from the north of Thailand where Khmer, Mon and Thai bloodlines have converged to produce extraordinary skin tones and delicate features. I buy them drinks, dance with them and listen to their stories. Each one has a tale to tell, most of them are poignant.

There is so much to see and experience in Bangkok and its surroundings. A whole day can be devoted to exploring just the Grand (Royal) Palace and its grounds. If you are a photographer, you find yourself always running out of film. If you are a writer, you are never at a loss for observations to describe. There is the Snake Farm outside the city where they “milk” the most venomous snakes of their poisons in order to make anti-toxins of many types. There is the local Zoo where I found an Orang-Utan mother that had “adopted” a kitten as a surrogate for an offspring it had lost. There is the “Ancient City”, some 30~40 km outside Bangkok, where temples, buildings, structures and people from all over Thailand have been ensconced in one location to provide farangs of limited itineraries with an appetizer of Thailand both rural and ancient.

My favourite time in Bangkok is the morning. The heat has not yet become oppressive, the traffic is not yet snarled, the dew on the frangipani blossoms creates a sweet perfume that pervades the city, and, my favourite of all places in Bangkok, Wat Arun, the Temple of the Dawn, with its porcelain chip embedded 67-metre prang (Cambodian type of spire) coruscating radiantly in the morning sun, beckons me to climb up its steep steps. The four pavilions at its base symbolize four important stages in Buddha’s life: birth, enlightenment, first converts and death. It is a very spiritual place for me. And from here, from the top of Wat Arun, I can see almost all of the Land of Smiles (and Contrasts).