Skyscrapers, Markets, Ice Cubes, Tourism, and Waterfalls... Thailand's Excesses

Last night, I had insomnia. And in those moments, my mind always drifts to what’s weighing on me. This time, I thought of you, Dolma—I *love* your travel journals, so wonderfully poetic even though they’re written in prose. And I feel so small in comparison...

I was wondering where and how to start the next part of my journal. So many ideas came to me. But I should’ve gotten up to write them down, because now—blank. Total void. Writer’s block!

So, I’m diving in blind...

Oh, and I forgot to mention upfront: even if I joke about Thais, it’s never to mock them. Just some lighthearted teasing. I like poking fun at the quirks of people I care about—and I don’t spare myself either!

And even though I said I wouldn’t tell my story in chronological order, I need a launching pad—let the writing, memories, sensations, and emotions flow from there... What comes to mind first, without overthinking it, is this: I LOVED Bangkok! Though you probably guessed that already. And yet, I’m not a city guy—I’m more of a country rat. Go figure...

I think I’ve mentioned before that I chose to explore Thailand without any real reason, plan, or expectations... But when I dig a little deeper, my inner voice says: - "Oh, come on—you *did* have expectations! All you thought about was eating well and enjoying yourself. Didn’t you watch tons of videos of markets with food stalls?... And you wanted to take photos—lots of them, beautiful ones, original shots that aren’t the same old clichés." - "Mmm, yeah... My photos aren’t a huge success. I messed up a lot, or they’re just boring, too generic. I got so annoyed with the selfie-takers. Such a nuisance." - "And above all, you wanted to see Thailand’s natural side..." After scrolling online too much, reading travel journals and guides, you were already templed-out... - "Sure, I’d visit a few—I love that architecture—but not as much as Joël and Françoise, I told myself. And yet, I saw so many, never getting tired of them. I *love* the calm, the peace, the serenity of Buddhist temples... I meditate there for a while, recentering myself...

When they’re empty... of tourists...

And you know what I thought, Dolma?—With a name like that, I hope you’re not Buddhist—That the Thais really didn’t get what Buddha preached to them ages ago. I wanted to tell the monks I met, the ones I could talk to a little. But they wouldn’t have liked it—not one bit. I already tried with one of them, a really kind and smiling guy... (Though most of them scowl, compared to the Tibetan Buddhist monks I’ve crossed paths with in India, Ladakh, Zanskar...)

I even said—to ingratiate myself—

- "Idiot, yeah, I know what you’re gonna say—you should’ve kept your mouth shut! - Can I finish my sentence?"

I told this monk, who’d just blessed me thoroughly, that I was Buddhist... of the Tibetan tradition... You’re right, little voice—I saw right away he didn’t like that. I felt so much disdain in his new smile... Almost a look of disgust. Or maybe it was just mockery? And he was right, because Tibetans haven’t understood Buddha’s teachings either.

- "They’re not Buddhists—they’re Lamaists!" - "Okay, stop—you’re always criticizing me. I read Alexandra. She taught me that..." Still, I like Lamaism. It’s steeped in superstition, but I find it funny and innocent. And superstition helps people, especially when they encounter good omens. Bad omens are trickier—then you reinterpret or find a way around them.

Two of them—two old sages, clearly not charlatans—predicted I’d live to 103. Two! Thousands of kilometers apart, years apart. But both said the same number: 103! - "So you *have* to believe them!" - "I do, but I’m still full of doubts. I’ve always been very Cartesian. Though I’m letting go more and more—weird things have happened in my life. I would’ve loved for a wise Thai monk to spontaneously confirm he saw me living to 103. I was going to tell you the story of my Ganesh ring, but you’d laugh too hard. Laughing’s good, but I don’t like being made fun of. And when it’s just teasing, it’s not so bad.

But honestly, Thai monks aren’t very friendly. Oops—don’t generalize. I’m talking about the ones I met. They always looked grumpy when I was smiling at them. Killed my vibe. I think they have it out for Western tourists... A whole jawful of resentment! And tourists *do* give them a hard time—they don’t respect their beliefs. They give them a hard time, literally and figuratively. Me too, sometimes. I’ve avoided tourists for years. I’ve never seen so many butts and breasts on display, almost flaunted, as I did in Thailand this year. But I’m getting off track—I wanted to talk about that later... It just came up because of the monks and how tourists treat them!

What if I circled back to my arrival and first impressions of Thailand?

I came to eat and take photos.

Alright, I’ll dive into that in the next message... Goodnight.

But I shouldn’t go to bed... The good ideas, the urge to write—it always hits me at night... No, no, I’m not drinking... I don’t smoke either... - "Oh, right—about smoking, you should tell them..." - "Stop influencing me! I’ll tell them if I feel like it, if it fits, if I’m not afraid they’ll make fun of me..." - "(Again!)"

Alright, goodnight...

Funny how coincidences work... https://voyageforum.com/v.f?post=10703210;live=1;#10703210 Actually, they’re not called coincidences but synchronicity. https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicité#:~:text=La%20synchronicité%20signifie%20donc%20d, éventuellement%20—%20vice-versa.%20» Too bad the link’s censored by VF, but just look up "synchronicity" on Wikipedia

Someone said to me: "You haven’t mentioned the earthquake?" I don’t have anything more to say than any other traveler—just that I happened to be near those buildings three weeks earlier, but I wasn’t there three days ago... So, nothing more to add than anyone else... Except that my driver from Chiang Mai was worried about me. He thought I was still somewhere in northern Thailand... I thought that was really nice... I’m working on the rest of the travel journal and especially the photos. I’ll still post a few to illustrate or explain...

Because the author loves it when readers interact, and since you're up for it...

I realized tonight that there’s a big omission in my list—a heavyweight one at that. Emmanuel Macron? Voyajou? Buddha? The Thais? 😇

For the others, I don’t know, but for me, I read this travel journal remembering that what matters isn’t the destination but the journey.

Just to clarify, the point of the message I posted here on March 20th when the title was changed—and which earned me your quote in good company—was to encourage Marien to keep going no matter what. After the moderation team restored the original title, it became irrelevant, so I asked VF to delete it and let Marien know at the same time. Half an hour later, it was done.

P.S. I recognized you in this photo: you’re on the right, captivated by the storyteller while he keeps me pinned under his elbow.

I arrived at my accommodation too early compared to their schedule, even though we’d exchanged quite a few messages so I could settle in as soon as I got there—I knew I’d be exhausted after a long trip. We misunderstood each other about the dates (I’d booked directly via WhatsApp). I was arriving on the 19th in the morning and had clearly explained that I wanted to book from the night before my arrival, precisely so the room would be ready when I got there, even if I didn’t sleep in it.

Did they want to help out another guest? Were they worried about losing a night’s rental since I hadn’t paid yet? Did they want to spare me from paying for a night I wouldn’t use, without considering my date calculations to secure the place? But the room was occupied.

So, I’d advise travelers of a certain age to book their accommodation for the night before their arrival and make sure to explain the reason to the hotel if they plan to relax, freshen up, or sleep right away to recover from a tiring journey. At least I had the advantage of not being thrown off by the heat.

Nothing to eat or drink at that early hour. And I hadn’t eaten anything for over 24 hours, which added to my exhaustion.

Tim, the owner, seeing my distress—and especially my zombie-like appearance (I felt like one myself)—offered to grab me a coffee from the nearby café since I’d told him I didn’t feel up to walking there.

Phew, he came back—much to my surprise—with a huge glass of café au lait. My first encounter with what I’d call *excess*, compared to the tiny coffee glasses in India. (I always ask for two or even three there.) I realize now, writing this, that I didn’t even think to pay him.

But Tim didn’t miss a beat and quickly asked me to settle up. The room wasn’t even ready, but he was already demanding payment. - Give me a minute to breathe, please, there’s no rush!

Unlike Peter, his partner—a very calm Thai guy—I noticed Tim was hyperactive, constantly wired like he was on dopamine 24/7. I thought of Peter and figured it couldn’t be easy living with someone so "speedy," even when he talks.

I calculated I owed him 15,400 THB, a pretty chunk of my planned 3,000 € cash budget. - Can I pay by card? I don’t have enough cash. Then I started lying in that Asian way to justify something perfectly reasonable without fibbing. But when it came time to pay, I realized my three international credit cards were back in Kannur, where I only use my Indian HDFC card. And, of course, when I tried to pay with it, it didn’t work! *Fucking India!* They never do things like everyone else.

I saw Tim’s constant joviality and laughter dry up instantly.

- Can’t you get money sent from India or France? - Nope, I don’t have an account here. All this was happening while I still hadn’t had a moment to relax, still drenched in sweat and exhaustion. My mind wasn’t clear at all, and I started wondering if traveling in this kind of country was a good idea when you’re not exactly young anymore.

- Oh, you’ve given me an idea! I can’t get money sent to me, but I can transfer it to you from my Revolut app. Tim’s expression darkened—I could tell he was wondering what kind of guest he’d ended up with. Was I planning some sneaky move, like skipping out without paying? - But that’ll take days, especially since it’s Sunday. I need you to pay now, or you can’t stay. I can’t wait until Monday or Tuesday. There it was—he’d finally said it. - Not at all, don’t worry, the transfer is instant. The money’s in your account in seconds. He didn’t look convinced when he replied: - OK, I’ll send you my bank details, but otherwise, you’ll have to pay in cash. I can’t wait.

Less than 10 minutes later, I got a message: - The money’s in my account—it’s amazing! Thanks so much.

Weird that a businessman wouldn’t know you can get instant transfers these days.

Sorry, impatient folks, but I wanted to say my first impressions of Thailand were stressful. I thought my trip was off to a terrible start. And it didn’t get better—after a much-needed shower, I felt the need to lie down for a bit to *really* land. And... I passed out immediately and didn’t wake up until... eight hours later! The day was ruined, and on top of that, after such a long sleep, I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

I’d planned an ambitious first day: a walking tour of everything in the area around my accommodation. I’d planned... Oops! You don’t know where I was since I didn’t tell you. I was in a small rectangle between Silom and Sathorn, in Bangkok’s skyscraper district, almost at the foot of the MahaNakhon Tower.

I’d mapped out a route west: Start at Teochew Cemetery Park and the Chinese cemetery, then Wat Yannawa (the boat temple), the fish market, Wat Sutthiwararam, loop back through the Chinese cemetery park, stop at the Mr. Kukrit Pramoj House, and return to my room for a short rest. I planned to continue in the late afternoon with Wat Hua Lamphong (north of my room) and finish at the Patpong night market, right near my base.

So, between one thing and another, my trip—and my stay—started off badly. But they also started well because all these unexpected delays helped me manage my emotions: frustration, disappointment, a little anger (at myself), but most of all, they forced me to kick my carefully planned itinerary to the curb. I’d built it in a state of euphoria, greed, and ignorance—I realized the next day I’d never have been able to do that circuit in a few hours of a scorching Thai afternoon, especially right after arriving. Especially for someone who moves at the speed of a tortoise on a country road.

- But you're not going to spend your first day cooped up in your room! Always ready to advise me, to motivate me, to encourage me—or to tell me off, that one! - You're right, I'll go for a walk around the neighborhood to start. But first, I need to test my first meal at the little local restaurant Tim recommended... A successful trial. It was delicious, but not spicy enough for my taste—I had to ask for more. Strange, since he’d recommended it as a non-touristy spot frequented by locals.



I’d later realize that Thai cuisine is far from being as spicy as its reputation suggests. Spicy, sure, but not unbearably so. Much less fiery than what I’m used to in South India or how I cook it myself.

My steps led me almost mechanically toward the Maha Nakhon Tower, since I’d heard so much about it and it was just a few hundred meters from my accommodation. That tower fascinated me. Even before leaving India, I’d booked an afternoon and evening up there.

I needed to gain some perspective to assess my current situation...



Some would’ve rushed to the Emerald Buddha Temple... made of jade. Ugh, that exaggeration and lie annoyed me right away. Why say it’s emerald when everyone knows it’s jade! But I was fascinated by this human folly: skyscrapers getting taller and taller, always outdoing the last. When would they stop? When an earthquake would wipe out millions of dollars and thousands of lives? I swear it’s true—I thought about an earthquake when I arrived at the base of the Maha Nakhon Tower and looked up. I felt crushed, annihilated.



They were all there, queuing up to charge—without much effort—at the monster. - Don’t mock, you’re doing the same thing!



- Yeah, but I had the sense to book in advance so I wouldn’t queue for an hour. But before reaching the plaza where this giant stood, I’d already been struck by some stunning, less imposing skyscrapers.

And wandered a few streets. And I wondered: - Why do people say Bangkok is hard to explore on foot? Sure, there weren’t any sidewalks, but even on this first foray into the sprawling city, I noticed that drivers respected pedestrians, didn’t speed, and didn’t honk.

But since night had fallen and I didn’t want to venture too far, I headed—with some apprehension—toward the nearby Patpong night market. With some apprehension because I’d had this little exchange with someone from VF:

- The area you’re staying in is one of Bangkok’s hottest... It’s a den... You’ll see... There are lights... There’s everything... It’s a night market, but all around are brothels, everything you could want, and even behind, there’s a gay district... In that parallel street and even the next one, you’ll find everything from girlie bars to other delights of that sort. There too, you can’t go wrong—there’s soliciting everywhere you look... But for the night market part, it’ll be packed. Don’t walk around with your camera, because with people so close together, it’s easy to get robbed, and anyway, the stalls won’t be great for photos... After that, it’s up to you on the spot... But I’m giving you a tip: in the night market area, keep your stuff safe... Later, when you’re in the parallel street, there’s much less traffic—you can relax a bit more...

- Thanks a lot! But I’m not going to Thailand for sex tourism like so many solo men. I’m going to Thailand to see some beautiful temples, but mostly for nature, rivers, waterfalls, etc., and for the food!!! And also because I need a change of scenery (of atmosphere... Do I look like an atmosphere? Wink to Arletty, *Hôtel du Nord*) and to clear my head. Especially since I’m in the middle of a breakup with India—so below the belt isn’t really my thing right now. Still, those areas are always brightly lit with lots of colorful signs, people in the streets, and they make for great lively photos. Photographing temples and more temples that you see everywhere doesn’t interest me. But a pretty temple lost in nature or on an unknown Bangkok street? Now *that* interests me. (Though I warn you, you’ll see temples, and temples, and more temples here...) So I wondered what kind of den of thieves I was about to stumble into... I’d had to explain to this person—who seemed insistent that I was staying in Bangkok’s hottest district—that I’d chosen this accommodation on booking.com for its location near two metro lines and its value for money...

Imagine my surprise when I arrived at this famous night market and found hardly anyone around and very little life, but that’s where I got my second taste of excess when I saw the sheer number of stalls offering all kinds of food.

And drinks, including an impressive variety of those famous smoothies that would happily accompany me throughout my stay—and which I still miss now that I’m back in India.

I stuffed myself: coconut water, a first dragon fruit smoothie, but since I didn’t find it as *dragon-tastically* delicious as they’d said, I downed another one—passion fruit this time.

“Stay hydrated,” they all said when I left. And I feasted on pineapple chicken rice, but I’d soon realize that all these markets served the same dishes—a touristy cuisine, pretty to look at and photograph, but bland and not spicy at all, nothing like my taste bud fantasies.

So I returned to my room a little frustrated by the lack of atmosphere and local color. Despite my pineapple chicken rice—more rice and pineapple than chicken—which had perked me up, was it the accumulated travel fatigue not yet shaken off? The late hour for someone used to early nights and dawn risings? The first disappointment in my expectations—there’d be others, though they wouldn’t dent my blissful optimism? Or—more seriously—the early signs of Alzheimer’s?

I got lost!

I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to where I’d gone, hadn’t noted any landmarks on my way, except for a 7-Eleven sign near my street—unaware that Seven/Eleven stores are *everywhere*, with one every 20 meters or so in the same area. It was only after wandering, turning, for two hours—when I was supposed to be ten minutes from my place—and walking kilometers that I finally, and shamefully, sent out an SOS to Tim and Peter: *I’m lost!*

We’ve become slaves to technology. I always say that if there were a catastrophe or war that destroyed our satellites and all our electronic tools, including mobile phones, the planet’s future would lie with old folks like me who still know how to calculate without a calculator, write without spellcheck or emojis (you know what I mean, Christelle?), cook over a wood fire, wash clothes by hand with just soap, and navigate without GPS...

Because the reason for my getting lost wasn’t any of the above—it was a GPS and internet connection failure. The “Maps” app on my iPhone kept leading me back to the underground parking lot of a big office building, no matter which street I took to try to find a coherent route. And though I was close, it sent me on detours through streets I didn’t recognize—at night, they all looked the same, and on top of that, I’ve always had poor night vision, even when I was young and spry. I tried Google Maps, which had automatically switched to French earlier in the evening, but now—who knows why—it stubbornly switched to Thai! So I tried maps.me, but the app wouldn’t accept (didn’t recognize) the name of my hotel/residence/apartment...

Tim and Peter (they teamed up, each with their own phone, but that didn’t help) guided me via WhatsApp messages with patience, directions, and photos to help me find my way from where I was. The next day, I discovered that when I left Patpong, I was just minutes from my room. I’d mixed up a 7-Eleven sign when I left the night market. I swear I hadn’t been drinking or smoking, despite the many hash shops in the market. And don’t laugh or mock—I was *really* freaked out about Alzheimer’s.

A few years earlier, just as the last Covid panics were ending, while I was still in France, in the parking lot of my residence, an elderly woman—very elegant, distinguished, and still quite beautiful—called out to me: - Sir, can you help me? I’m lost. I’ve walked a lot, I don’t know where I am... She seemed both exhausted and panicked. I took her to my place to give her something to drink (it was late summer, still very hot) and called the police. When they didn’t arrive, I took charge. With her ID, I looked up her town. I found a vet with the same last name... - I found a vet with your last name... - Yes, my son is a vet, but he’s far from here. He’s in A in the Pyrenees. - Where do you think you are now? - Well, sir, I’m not losing my mind—we’re in B! (in another department, hundreds of kilometers away) The police arrived as the vet son was already there, having managed to reach him. The vet didn’t thank me—neither then, nor the next day, nor later. I never heard from him again. The police, though, did thank me and congratulated me on my initiative and the steps I’d taken to find her family. - We couldn’t have done better, they told me.

The day after this first adventure, I got some teasing—half-joking, half-reproachful—from Tim. Peter, the Thai guy, didn’t comment.

Never mock someone who’s lost! It’s *incredibly* stressful to feel lost.

My stay in Thailand was really taking a great turn!!! Long live Adventure!

Oh yes, long live adventure!!! Yesterday was a culinary adventure with your sardine curry recipe that I found on your personal site. Such a great recipe—I’ll definitely make it again since we loved it!

Like everyone else, I can’t wait to follow your adventures in Thailand, but I know it’s a ton of work to keep up a travel journal… let alone two!!!

Away for a few days. Time to pick up the thread of my reading journals.

First, I traveled (from Tanzania via the Philippines, Norway, and Japan, then through Albania and Kazakhstan without forgetting Kerala) to reach "Thailand in excess!"

Your Bangkok brings back memories... But that’s another story.

Anyway, it starts strong, and that makes me smile. Just to clarify, smiling doesn’t mean mocking—because when I *do* mock, there’s never even a hint of a smile! There, that’s settled.

Aren’t you a bit (or a lot) absent-minded, Mr. Marien?

I’m waiting for the rest of the trip.

Oh, and I’m reading:

And then I thought of you, Dolma

Maybe it’s the story of *the girl with the yaks*, but that’s another story too.

I’m waiting for the rest of the trip. Oh yeah, I’m reading

Hi there, hi there... It’s coming... I’m also really eager to continue before it fizzles out like my travel journal on Gujarat, but I’ve also got two other posts to write about the Theyyam

I’d said I wouldn’t “recount” things in order, following my calendar. But now I’m a little lost, and I need to reconnect the cars to the locomotive because I’m already starting to forget. This trip will be the trip of upheavals. I think I’ve written that before. And if I’m repeating myself, you’ve got to tell me. Nothing about what I usually do in my daily life—and especially what I usually do when traveling—applies here.

I’ve split my post in two. Too long to read for some, not enough photos for others. We quickly hit the 10-photo limit per message.

**First part** I’ve inherited, much to my dismay, my father’s methods for preparing a trip. He really planned EVERYTHING day by day, almost hour by hour, down to what we were going to visit or do. He was obsessed with the Michelin guide—the red one, the one that listed hotels and restaurants. And there was no question of deviating from his principles, his program, his Law. The only thing I find smart about planning an itinerary and travel program is that the moment you start putting it together, the trip begins too. And that’s a real joy. That’s the only reason I imitated my father. But I don’t hesitate to make changes along the way depending on the circumstances, especially since I’ve been traveling through India. But here, in Thailand, this will be the trip of changes and modifications. I’ll encounter several disappointments, but they never dampened my good mood or my enjoyment.

Unanimously, all my friends and acquaintances in India asked me the same question: - "But you’re traveling alone? No one’s accompanying you? You didn’t hire a guide? How are you going to book a hotel? Get around? Know where and how to visit places?" They ALL insisted that it’s unthinkable for an Indian to set off on an adventure like this alone. For them, you absolutely have to go through a travel agency and move around in a group or with family, or at least with two or three brothers or friends.

Among the biggest changes in my daily rhythm were my starting and ending hours. I never managed to leave before 10 AM in Bangkok, even though I’d planned to head out at 6 AM, right at sunrise. But Bangkok isn’t a city you visit at 6 AM... Except for the markets. So what’s the big deal?

During this first day of wandering, I covered 20 km without even realizing it, without feeling particularly tired. That’s how I visit a city. Always on foot. If the distances are too long between two points, I might take a bus or a tuk-tuk, but otherwise, it’s [*pedibus cum jambis*]. I quickly realized that the famous Bangkok, which stretches over 28 km or so, doesn’t really concern us tourists. It’s a matter of eight to ten kilometers at most. Obviously, as long as you’re not staying outside a reasonable perimeter.

On this first day, I decided to stick to the plan I’d made the night before—within my sector, a radius of five to six kilometers. Nose in the wind, flower in my mouth, and phone in hand for GPS. Still, even though I grumble about modernity, sometimes it’s a good thing. GPS, when it’s not playing tricks on us (or taking detours), is a truly extraordinary tool for exploring a big city on foot. The advantage of walking is that you see so many things you’d miss if you were in a tuk-tuk or taxi. Those are my little unexpected pleasures: a house facade, a small temple hidden in an alley, a tiny eatery packed with hungry Thais, which means the food is excellent and probably very cheap.



It’s also about stumbling upon a little shop with great prices. Speaking of which, yesterday I bought myself a gorgeous embroidered shirt with a very discreet dragon. I caved immediately. Barely arrived, first night. - "Don’t start shopping at the beginning of your trip! You’ll find things every day!" You might think that’s my little inner voice again? Nope, totally wrong. That’s my friend Monique. What a killjoy. She’s unmatched when it comes to bringing you down or lecturing you.

No wonder I got lost. Oh, that alley looks nice! I’ll go check it out. I’ll turn back to find my route and not get lost. Yeah, but then another equally charming alley appears. Following it, turning right, then left—I’ve got a good sense of direction; I should find my way back to where I started. But Bangkok is a witch; she bewitches you, makes you confuse right with left, north with south, east with west. She spins your head around—you think you’ve walked 150 meters, but in reality, you’ve walked a kilometer. And then, when you’re looking everywhere, you don’t notice you’ve missed a little side street you passed earlier without seeing it, head in the clouds, eyes wide open, always nose in the wind and flower in your mouth. The flower starts to droop by the end of the day. But I don’t notice; I’m on my little cloud, turning right, turning left, lingering in front of a shop window or a street food stall. Hey, I’ll treat myself to a coconut and follow it up with a passion fruit smoothie. Gotta stay hydrated. That’s the motto. - "Oh, crap, where am I? I thought I’d made it back to my starting point, but I don’t recognize anything... Help! GPS." But yesterday, my GPS was on strike. It had lost its bearings too. Or maybe it wanted to play a trick on me to see if I’d get annoyed or panic. None of that. Euphoric, the guy. No, no, I haven’t smoked anything, even though there are hash shops everywhere. - "So, are you gonna tell them...? About your gluttony..." That, this time, is the little voice. She’s quite the rascal. - "No, I’m not gonna tell them. Here on VF, you always have to be careful what you say. The censors are watching." - "Okay, okay, but still, I think it’d be nice if you told them."

I insist on figuring things out without GPS. Nose in the wind, flower in my mouth... Even if all that’s left is the stem, because the petals are now under my chin! And then there are all those dazzling lights, each more fascinating than the last, all similar yet unique in their differences.

Oops, I just let out a loud "Damn!" Where am I? I opened my mouth too wide, and the flower fell out. Oh well, I’m not picking it up—it’s just a shadow of a flower now, a slimy slug from all the chewing. - "No, but now you’re getting off track... That was yesterday. How about telling them about today?" - "Well, I forgot to tell them about yesterday... Today? Same thing—nose in the wind, flower in my mouth. I just bought a fresh one in front of a temple. There are temples everywhere here."

If you have prostate issues, gentlemen—but you too, ladies, even if you don’t have prostate problems—I mean, if you frequently need to empty your bladder, it’s no big deal in Bangkok. I’d asked Joël: - "Are there public restrooms?" I think my question threw him off a bit. He told me he hadn’t seen many but that there were cafés and restaurants everywhere. Yes, but tea or coffee is diuretic, so ten minutes later, you’ve got to drink another tea or coffee... It’s endless.

But the Thais must know that because there are restrooms in every temple. And since there are temples *everywhere*—everywhere, everywhere—plus, these places are particularly well-maintained. The porcelain shines. You could eat off it!

So I visited a lot of temples in the mornings during this trip.

- "You shouldn’t drink so much tea and coffee in the morning when you wake up and have to walk a lot."

But on this first real outing morning, I was amazed to discover all those skyscrapers around me. I find this architecture magnificent. To me, it’s as aesthetic and breathtaking as a Buddhist temple, whether ancient or modern.

I’ll come back to this later, Joël, but since you brought it up, I find the Blue Temple and the White Temple in Chiang Rai very aesthetic, even if they’re made of *Tout Béton* (all concrete). And I love that kitschy side of Asians in their extravagant religious art. What struck me in Bangkok was this association, this confrontation, this happy cohabitation between temples—ancient or modern—very ornate, flashy, with gold, gold, gold (or rather, gilded) and towering modern buildings made of glass and steel, with a sobriety as majestic as it is stark compared to the trinkets of the temples.

But very often, you’re plunged back into tradition, forgotten in a corner by developers, unless it’s fiercely defended by the occupants. That’s the magic of walking. Here, it’s an old traditional building still standing next to a skyscraper, and there, just a little further, more or less secretly hidden, a few wooden houses.

What I really appreciated everywhere during my trip—wherever I went—were those little temple shrines that modest residents or wealthy banks and insurance companies build in front of their doors, perched on a platform fixed to a wooden or concrete piling. I’ve made a whole collection of photos of them, from the most modest and naive to the most sophisticated and extravagant. You know what I’m talking about? I don’t know what they represent in Thai culture. A cult for the ancestors of the place? Protection for the house? The building? The shop?

Part two

As I continued my search for that forgotten Chinese cemetery, I noticed how clean and hygienic the streets were. The rare beggar or poor soul who hadn’t gotten enough sleep could stretch out on the sidewalk without lying in garbage, filth, dog or monkey droppings, or cow dung, or picking up viruses and bacteria from passersby’s spit. The sidewalks were spotless and probably cleaned daily—or nearly so. This guy even rigged up a comfy pillow while waiting for customers.

I must be getting close now, because I just stumbled upon a small Chinese temple, far from any I’d seen in photos online or in my guidebooks. Yet I’m quite a ways from Chinatown.

But the Chinese cemetery—completely forgotten, completely abandoned—was something else entirely. I walked a lot and racked my brain to find it, because once again, the GPS wasn’t much help. It’s like the GPS is Indian—rather than admit it doesn’t know or didn’t understand, it sends you to some other address it *does* recognize...

I figured out why I couldn’t find the Chinese cemetery—it was surrounded by dumps and filth. It was supposed to be southeast of a park with the same name. So I was looking for trees, flowers, grass, paths... and all I found was a kind of no-man’s-land with sun-scorched, dried-up grass. Finally, I spotted a small wooded area right in the city. It must be around here—ah, yes, I can see a tomb emerging from a tangle of branches, leaves, and vines. But this space is surrounded by uninviting barbed wire. Okay, I’ll walk around, even though I’m drenched in sweat under the blazing sun. A square, four sides, all tightly strung barbed wire. No gate, no barrier. Inaccessible!

They said this old Chinese cemetery was so picturesque! But it’s just a dumping ground for old planks, shutters, polystyrene sheets, bags, and rubble. Yet I can see a few tombs, as forgotten as they are photogenic. Who rests here? - No way I’m getting photos! - You don’t know me well—I didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. Carefully watching where I put my feet and hands, I managed to slip my lens, my wrist, and part of my forearm through the barbed wire.

This bucolic cemetery could’ve been a wonderful place to recharge, to rest...

But as soon as I took a few steps away from these modest "public housing" for the forgotten dead, I was back among my beloved skyscrapers. Are there *only* skyscrapers in this part of the city? Who lives here? Who *actually* lives here?

That night, I realized 80% to 90% of the windows weren’t lit. These luxury apartments are empty. Just prestige for the architect who built a skyscraper.

What enchanted me during my visit to Wat Yannawa, the Boat Temple, wasn’t the ultra-modern temple shaped like a boat—built in questionable taste—but the blend of modern and conventional architecture. Not only is the contrast striking between the old buildings and this famous boat-temple, but the skyscrapers built all around don’t overshadow these pagodas from another era. On the contrary, I think they highlight them, like a jewel case showcasing a gem.

I got back exhausted from that first day. Well, not *exhausted*. I can’t find the right word—I just felt those 20 kilometers in my feet. Not even in my legs. But mostly, I was delighted by this first foray into the Thai capital, even though it was a day of disappointing discoveries. After the letdown of the Chinese cemetery, followed by the temple shaped like a boat (rather than a boat shaped like a temple), I had to endure the great disillusionment of a fish market completely closed off, which I’d bravely reached under the scorching sun. Of course, it was early afternoon, but I’d read it was incredibly lively at all hours, even if it peaked early in the morning. Then came the turn of the highly recommended Mr. Kukrit Pramoj House, as suggested by our friend Joël. Permanently closed. Also closed when I got there was Wat Hua Lamphong, but I still had the pleasure of witnessing the multiple devotions—impressive in their fervor—of an entire Thai people rushing to pray, ask, or beg for blessings, accompanied by offerings of flowers and intoxicating incense. in front of dozens of statues covered in those famous tiny gold leaves that, over time, end up completely disfiguring—and uglifying—the very figures they’re meant to honor.

Why did I love Bangkok? Because it’s a city full of life and frenzy, but not as noisy as people claim. Those who say that have never been to India. Even the “small” cities I’ve visited—Bangalore, Ahmedabad, Kolkata—wore me out with their crowds of uncivil people, hysterical drivers and motorcyclists with their hands glued to their horns (or the other way around—I don’t know, I didn’t look too closely). I only heard the result of the "surgery."

That day, I discovered that Bangkok is a tourist city, very visited, but it remains an absolutely authentic Thai city, to my great delight. Every day brought something new, like on this first day—the filming of a musical-comedy-style movie right in the city center, near the metro station by my accommodation. Unfortunately, I can’t show you the short videos I managed to take on the sly, since I don’t know how to upload them.

After a refreshing shower, I found enough energy to head back to Patpong Night Market to quench my thirst with fruit juices and smoothies—and especially to treat myself to the surprise I’m saving for my next post.

Thank u na khrap !

quick, the rest! !

These intoxicating scents that linger in the air 24/7 in the hallways of my residence, sneaking under my door to tickle my nostrils, those pretty green fan-shaped leaves scattered all over the city, that magical word: *green*, spreading from the wide illuminated avenues to the narrowest, gloomiest alleys, those inviting shops—some with flashy, aggressive lights, others dimly lit, adding a mysterious, enigmatic, almost clandestine (yet not quite) vibe—this atmosphere of both exhibitionism and secret modesty, of insider complicity, like we’re all part of the same family, those cozy (or not-so-cozy) lounges with reclining chairs or even plush, welcoming sofas that hint at shared intimacy... It reminds me of opium dens... in another life.

In this life, I’ve never tasted those pleasures.

Well, almost never. I was introduced to them late, well past fifty. A group of friends, average age 25. The joint passed from hand to mouth. I would’ve looked like a fool—and worse, like I didn’t belong—among them, soaring through those sweet clouds. Nothing. No effect. I stayed grounded. It was tough, listening to their exchanges. They were floating in some obscure bliss while I wallowed in even darker gloom. Didn’t feel like repeating the experience.

A year or two later—or was it five or ten?—same scenario, same gift passed around, different group, different place. But it felt like the same moment, just 10 years later. They offered me a share. Oh, hell yes! I was hoping this time I’d take off with them. Nope. Still grounded. I never tried again. No, no typo there.

Pétain (Marshal), what do they all see in this dried leaf besides its incredible scent?!!!

Well, since I’m in Thailand, years have passed, I’ve mellowed out, gained some wisdom (even if it doesn’t show on VF), found freedom in body and mind, nearly died three or four times (and each time, they didn’t want me up there), I’m going to try again. But this time, alone. No one to lecture me, no one to tell me what to do or not do. No one to watch, no one to mock me for being an old geezer. Good God, before I die, I *have* to try!

For all these months planning my trip, I didn’t even think about it! And now that I’m here, it’s all I can think: *I HAVE TO TRY!* At least once in my Marshal Pétain of a life. Once before dying a virgin to the high. No wonder it’s all I can think about—there are more *green shops* than Seven/Elevens. And trust me, Seven/Elevens are *everywhere* in Thailand. You can’t walk 20 meters without stumbling on one! But green shops? Every 2 meters! I find it prettier, more poetic to say *green shop*. The other guy, with his clunky shoes, had talked plenty about the hot streets and girlie bars in my neighborhood. At Pat Pong night market, you’ll find whatever you want, he’d said. I barely glimpsed, between two green shops, one or two girlie bars. No girls outside to lure customers, none inside. Wide open. No need to be a voyeur. The tables and bar stools were empty—no clients, no girls. It smelled more of desertion and misery than fun and frolic. - Maybe you went too early, grandpa? But the guy with the clunky shoes hadn’t mentioned the pretty green fan-shaped leaves or the green shops. At Pat Pong market (night *the* market), they’re practically side by side.

The first one I entered looked more like a bar with its high stools than a shop. I felt completely clueless. What was I even supposed to ask for? I didn’t have to ask— the girl handed me the menu, or *the* menu, if you prefer. An album, actually, several pages with colorful photos and weird names as unfamiliar and incomprehensible as Thai restaurant menus. Though this wasn’t Thai. Note that in restaurants, menus are the same—real albums with pages of photos making you want to try everything. And every dish is available to order, any time of day or night. Not like in India, where they always offer the same three or four dishes, everywhere, in every restaurant. And when you’re lucky enough to find a place with a normal menu—12, 15, even 20 or 25 dishes—and you think, *Finally, I can try something new*, you can bet the server will sweetly, barely whisper, with a cloying smile: - Sorry, sir, not available... - Okay, then I’ll take this... - Sorry, sir, not available... - And this one? - Sorry, sir, not available... - Fine, what *is* available? - Well, this, this, this, and this—and he pulls out the same short list of dishes you find everywhere, but 4 or 5 times more expensive here!

One day, after checking three or four restaurants, I got so mad I grabbed a pen from my bag and crossed out every dish on the menu, writing in big letters: *NOT AVAILABLE*. That led to a weeks-long feud with Praveen, which I even thought was permanent—it’s unthinkable (and improper) for an Indian, especially a Malayalee, to get angry and protest. As for Johny, when I’d pick a restaurant like that and he knew in advance we’d get the usual *not available* routine, he’d disappear under the table at order time—or slip off to the washroom while I placed the order, terrified of a scene. I’ve calmed down since and just laugh it off... Though I’ve noticed my outbursts are a breeze compared to the storms of insults and humiliation from the new-rich Indian tourists—now the most common type.

But back to my green shop.

What do all these names and photos even mean? So there are *that* many varieties of hash? Here in Thailand, like in restaurants, *everything* is available! I’m trapped—I don’t know what to ask for... The pretty little Thai girl, with her adorable Asian Barbie-doll face perfectly made up, stares at me, stunned, alarmed, like I’m an alien. She’s probably never been asked the questions that just spilled out of this guy’s mouth. Has he smoked too much? Drunk too much? Is he completely out of it or just senile? From her frightened eyes and embarrassed smile, I realize she doesn’t know how to answer. So I hand back her menu-album and, mortified, rush out.

After two or three equally fruitless attempts—this time, customers take me for a total idiot and openly mock me, making loud comments among themselves—my little voice, always quick to advise, tells me: - Don’t ask anything—what it is, the name, the dosage, the percentage... Just check if they have cakes, buy one, and sneak off to eat it in your room. Bad luck—I hit three more shops where they also present a menu-album with no cakes.

I think I’ve mentioned this before—I’m stubborn, and when I decide something, I don’t let go.

Finally, I spot a refrigerated display case in one of these pretty shops with various cakes. There’s a pretty tipsy American there. I don’t know what he’s had to drink, smoke, or eat, but he’s loud, talkative, and monopolizing the seller’s attention. When the seller signals to ask what I want, I suddenly point to a small cookie in the display without thinking or asking any questions. - They’re sold in pairs! - Okay, give me two. When he tells me the price, I almost back out. Twice the price of the nice shirt I bought yesterday—for just two tiny cookies! But after all this drama, I’m not giving up at the last minute...

And off I go, like a thief, to eat my cookie in my room.

Damn good! So good I’m about to devour the second. - No, might as well wait to see what effect it has. Save the other for tomorrow. And I sit down at my computer to look at my photos from the day before and that day.

Two hours later, nothing! Clearly, I’m resistant to this stuff. I message my young neighbor in France—who’s neither as innocent nor as stupid as me and knows all about the supposed effects: - Did you ask about the dosage? - No. - Maybe it’s a scam, maybe it’s a placebo. Normally, you should’ve felt something fast. Try the second one, you’ll see... - I’m not convinced at all. It’s late, I’m sleepy, and tomorrow I want to get up early to visit the Grand Palace before it gets too crowded...

I fell asleep fast, but I don’t think it was the cookie. Just normal fatigue from the day. I have no memory of any special state, no extraordinary dreams. Just a feeling of being drunk or something like that. I even said to myself in my sleep, without waking but aware of saying it: *Oh, that’s the cookie’s effect*. But when I woke up, no memory—just a hangover.

So I head to the Grand Palace with that boat-like walk, but unfortunately, that’s been chronic since my cardiovascular accident, which no doctor understands. I’m used to it. It’s very unpleasant—low blood pressure that sometimes forces me to sit. But I’m a fighter, I don’t like to “listen to myself” and stay inactive, so I deal with it... My young neighbor calls: - So, how’d it go after? - Nothing... I think I took it too late or went to bed too early. I kinda felt like it had an effect in my sleep, but no memory... - This time, take it earlier...

So I treat myself to my little dessert around 7 PM, and nothing special happens... Not at 8, 10, or 11 PM. I must be impervious, unreceptive... Or I got scammed. Either nothing in it or very little... Though commercially, that’s not very smart, especially in a country where, after sex, this is one of the main reasons a certain type of tourist comes...

The effect hit the next morning! But not the expected effect, not the hoped-for one. No mental high, no bliss, no euphoria—just a terrible physical effect... I couldn’t stand on my legs. My mind was fine, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. What was I going to do? No way I was going to a hospital. I’m like a sick cat that prefers to hide in a corner, lie down, and wait for death... I won’t go into details here. I almost called my insurance for repatriation. But I believe in my lucky star... *Wait, it’ll pass*... I looked it up online and also called my doctor and my young neighbor... I learned a few things... The cakes are much stronger than a joint. The effect comes much later. Never eat a cake without advice, without talking to the seller, etc... In short, I got everything wrong, did everything I shouldn’t have...

Three days to get back to normal! But after three days, I was trotting like a rabbit again. And during those three days, do you think I stayed in bed? In my room? No, you don’t know me well. I walked. Not as much as usual—6 to 8 km instead of 15 or 20. And I did it... *on a boat*... No, not on the Chao Phraya! In the street, in the metro, everywhere... But I was on a boat that pitched and rolled, and sometimes a bigger wave would knock me forward, but I held the wheel and stayed the course.

Quite an experience! A travel adventure I’ll remember...

thanks for sharing this—it brightened my Sunday morning and your "boat ride"!

You’re either really brave or totally reckless for trying all that! Me, I fight tooth and nail just to stay under for a simple surgery because I *hate* losing control—so I can’t even imagine pulling an all-nighter or eating an "enhanced" cookie!

Looking forward to more of your stories! !

You’re either really brave or reckless to have tried all that!

Neither. I’m just curious to know. I love discovering. It’s true that I’ve often taken risks in my life, and I still do now… Thanks for reacting to this post…

Hi there! Had a good laugh about your cake—it reminded me of my trip two years ago, standing in front of those stalls with leaf-wrapped treats... There were four of us women and one guy. Among us, two nurses and two nursing assistants, and we managed to talk him out of it. But honestly, those little cakes were calling our names. Our friend caved, and I won’t even tell you what happened next—he didn’t sleep well at all, and the next morning was a disaster. Pale, vomiting, couldn’t even move. We were really worried.

It’s true—no dosage instructions, nothing written down...

Keep treating us to your words and photos! Françoise

our buddy cracked, I won’t even tell you the rest—night was rough, next morning was a disaster, pale, vomiting, couldn’t move. He really scared us.

Thanks Françoise for sharing. It’s always nice when someone picks up on something I mentioned... I didn’t throw up, so there’s that at least...

It’s absolutely ASTOUNDING to me to learn such things—unheard of in my 40 years of experience and after crossing paths with thousands upon thousands of consumers.

If you smoke the product, it takes about 5 to 30 minutes to kick in. Interestingly, the lower-quality stuff tends to hit faster. Back in Amsterdam’s coffee shops, you’d get that double whammy effect thanks to the exceptional quality of the weed and the concentration of the active ingredient. After 10 minutes, a slight dizzy spell, a vague sense of well-being, heightened sensitivity to music. Then, 20 to 30 minutes later, the real punch: a kind of intoxication, but manageable—unlike alcohol—time seeming to stretch, endless fits of laughter, followed by thirst and massive cravings for sweet or salty snacks.

The effect is harsher when ingested because it goes through the stomach, which, at first, seems to struggle to process what it’s being given. So you don’t feel anything for 30 to 40 minutes, sometimes even an hour. You get *very* mellow—maybe even a little out of it. Super chill, as they used to say... The high lasts longer too, say up to 5 hours. That’s already not bad.

Reactions vary a lot if someone’s inexperienced, just like with alcohol or medication. Some people just aren’t cut out for it. Often, having someone experienced guide you is a good idea—kind of like learning to ride a bike 🙂

It’s all about dosage. It’s not the same to drink two 33cl glasses of shandy as it is to drink two glasses of spirits! Those 3x3 cm brownies? Split them into four servings, don’t eat the whole thing at once. And those big cookies? Don’t eat two when one is enough for eight little experiences. The only time in my life I took Lexomil was also the only time I didn’t read the instructions. So I took two in the morning before work, like I would for throat medicine. Sure enough, the next day I saw the doctor had prescribed a quarter of a tablet! I spent the day floating through like a ghost, somehow managing to do my job while constantly fighting off sleep and numbness. Barely any memories after that.

Anyway, Marien was brave to try something so youthful—he’s got another story to tell now—but I’ll never understand feeling sick the next day or that hangover sensation. The latter is purely an alcohol thing.

You visited the city and walked a lot while the whole country was on maximum alert for air pollution. The effects were even felt 200 km south, an area usually untouched. The real danger was there, luckily you didn’t feel it. Miraculous, I’d even say.

The day after the first cookie, I wasn’t in great shape, but I managed the situation pretty well—it wasn’t any more challenging than some of my usual days. But, as I told you the day after the second cookie, I was so weak in the legs that I stayed in bed.

- "You’ve got to get your butt moving and get out! Coffee, tea, vitamin C—don’t stay in your room all day!" I had to follow that command from my inner voice, which was speaking wisely once again.

It was already 1:30 PM, so where could I go that wasn’t too far? Well, I’d head to Khlong Toei Market.

One of my biggest expectations for this trip was the markets. I’d heard so much about Thailand’s famous markets! I’ve always loved visiting those in India, no matter the city or region. They’re so picturesque and photogenic! The member "Partirdeloin" had tempted me with his description of Khlong Toei Market: "Bangkok’s Rungis—you’ll find everything that’s eaten in Thailand: insects, wriggling fish, freshly slaughtered chickens, all kinds of butchery, frogs, vegetables, fruits, and in the middle of it all, incongruous things like dental prosthetics. In short, a place only Bangkok can offer... For an early riser like you, it’s the ideal spot. 100% local, and the only foreigners you’ll run into will mostly be expats—I bet you could count them on one hand. That said, like a lot of things in Thailand, it might have changed. I’ll admit I haven’t been there recently, but I doubt it." I’d also watched two or three online videos of this market, filmed at night, and Mike from Thailandee.com also praised its exotic side. I’d planned to go very early in the morning or very late in the evening for the extraordinary nighttime atmosphere I’d loved in the online videos.

Google Maps and my own GPS showed 3.8 km, a 52-minute walk. Perfect. It was totally doable! The first mistake I made that day—maybe because I was out of it—was not checking my maps properly. The route turned out to be grueling. Scorching sun, 35°C or 36°C (in the shade) that day. Just wide four-lane roads with insane traffic. No shops, no life. Just concrete everywhere and cars, cars, cars, in every direction!

There are plenty of cafés in Bangkok, all over the place, but that day I didn’t see a single one on my way, nor any temples—I was pretty lost. When I finally found one, I placed my order and dashed to the bathroom... Phew!

While I was savoring a delicious coffee—I’d been on a streak of excellent coffees throughout my trip—and just as I was about to leave, a customer approached me: - "Is this yours?" And he handed me my phone. I felt a jolt of electricity! It must have fallen out of my bag in the bathroom, and I hadn’t noticed! That was the second time in less than a week I’d nearly lost my phone.

While waiting for my flight in the boarding lounge at Kochi, I’d plugged in my phone and laptop at a charging station about ten meters from my seat. At Kochi, the boarding lounge has these really comfy chairs. So I did what the Indians do. Since I was bored, I fell asleep. And just as I woke up, still a bit groggy, I saw a guy taking my phone. He unplugged the charger and quickly walked off with the phone and charger in hand. I called out to him, but he didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t hear me? And I couldn’t run after him—the way he was moving, I’d never catch up. But then I saw he was about to board a different flight at another gate, so I ran like crazy and managed to grab him just as he was about to go through the boarding check. I literally snatched my phone from his hands. He claimed he’d made a mistake, that he thought it was his phone he’d left there. But afterward, I thought about it. What seemed weird was that I didn’t see him go back to the charging station to get his phone (the real one, the right one). What’s the point of stealing a phone these days, especially an iPhone with all its security features, the ability to track it, etc.? Without the passcode, the thief wouldn’t be able to open it, so it’d be a useless theft... I’d have been in a real mess if I’d slept five more minutes and the guy had left on another flight with my phone. Losing your phone these days is like suddenly losing your brain.

And there, in that café, I was reliving the same scene. If that customer hadn’t gone to the bathroom and if I’d left the café before he came out... You’ll say: so many "ifs." Still, all those "ifs" could very well have happened. I don’t dare talk about my "celestial protectors" on VF anymore for fear of being seen as a "crackpot."

I made a big mistake choosing to go to Khlong Toei Market in the state I was in and at that time—neither early morning nor late evening... It was the last place I should’ve gone.

I didn’t recognize the place at all. I think the lights and nighttime atmosphere create a much more intense impression. I was really curious about the insect stalls. I really wanted to see that. But I didn’t see a single one.

On the other hand, I was able to navigate through puddles—not very clean, but less disgusting than the cow dung or rotting vegetables at Pondicherry Market, the most disgusting market I’ve ever seen in terms of hygiene, including its abominable toilets—through the aisles, dodging the sudden buckets of water thrown vigorously from left and right. I’d worn my ugliest, most worn-out pants for this occasion, which I’d been expecting.



I made my way past freshly chopped pig heads, tossed haphazardly into buckets,

meat and offal stalls that, curiously, weren’t visited by flies at all.



I felt deeply moved in the section for live animals. I really suffered for those poor ducks crammed into grim cages, waiting for their fate to be decided. And for those unfortunate frogs, tied up and alive, also thrown into a narrow tub. I was touched by the one that had managed—who knows how—to free itself and was trying to escape the fate of its companions. Unless it had been left intentionally free to show customers that they were selling live, and therefore fresh, animals!



Don’t ask me why I used to eat frog legs and why I can’t anymore... Well, I’ll tell you anyway—it’s since the day I saw those frogs we’d caught in the morning, as teenagers, trying to escape on their front legs with their entire hindquarters cut off. We’d stunned them with a hard blow to the head to kill them before cutting off the hips and thighs. But either they were particularly tenacious or our blow hadn’t been fatal, and when we were halfway through the basket, we saw the first ones we thought were dead moving forward on their front legs...

As for the idea of eating toad, it disgusts me.

It’s a shame you can’t see these unfortunate fish, no better off, still alive, trying in vain to jump or rather twitch by flaring their gills.

I didn’t appreciate the fate of the turtles any more, me who’s long worked for the defense of sperm whales and sea turtles, and who sympathizes with the freshwater turtles I meet every morning in my "little jungle" when I go for my 8 or 10 km walk along my beach.



Fresh food, it was fresh food! But what a ordeal for these animals! Enough to put you off eating meat for the rest of your life and become a vegetarian. I would’ve preferred not to be certain about the freshness of the meat rather than see the suffering of all these live animals, or those recently killed, like the pigs, whose heads still showed signs of life and martyrdom piled in a bucket.



I took some videos that would "speak" to you better than my words, but I still don’t know HOW TO INSERT A VIDEO IN A TRAVEL JOURNAL POST. So, instead, I took some screenshots from those videos, but of course, it’s less impressive, and the quality of these shots leaves something to be desired.

I took a deep breath of fresh air when I found myself in the "dead" meat section, with its chopped-up cuts, and the stalls of fish and dead sea creatures. More toads again, but this time very much dead.

I thought the hygiene was surprisingly good, despite the lack of refrigerated display cases. Large tubs filled with crushed ice did the job. And I didn’t see a single fly buzzing around the meat, which looked perfectly fresh and appetizing. I would’ve gladly bought a cutlet if I’d had the kitchen I expected in my accommodation.



I’m not a fan of octopus or squid at all, but I would’ve happily tucked into some of the huge prawns that were so abundant here and cheap compared to restaurant prices.



Then, suddenly, I was surrounded by poetic vegetable stands.





and a variety of aromatic herbs that filled the air around this part of the market.





On the other hand, the food stalls and prepared dishes didn’t make my mouth water at all. Maybe it was because of all that meat on display. I preferred going upstairs, where in a huge hall covering the entire area of the lower market, only two restaurants—one specializing in Myanmar cuisine—seemed deserted. I’d seen them in online videos, where they were particularly popular with a large local crowd. So I took a chance and had my meal there, and I didn’t regret it. If you ever go to this market, I recommend going upstairs and eating at the Myanmar restaurant, without being put off by the vastness of the place with just a few tables from this restaurant in one corner.

So, visiting this market was one of my biggest disappointments in those early days in Bangkok.

That’s why you should always be wary of other people’s beautiful photos or videos…

I feel like I didn’t have much to tell you this time, but I hope I’ve still managed to take you with me through the alleys and lanes of Khlong Toei Market. But don’t do what I did—go early in the morning or after nightfall. Or… even better, in the middle of the night, when the stalls are restocked and the atmosphere is at its liveliest (or so I’ve heard, since I didn’t see it for myself).

got hungry! That’s why I’ve barely touched meat since India!

Still hungry! That’s why since India I barely touch meat!

Hi Milou, Is it because of poor hygiene or animal mistreatment? I know you’re always eager to read the next part… It’s coming, but I’m really busy right now. Happy Easter! I’m invited to an Easter meal tomorrow, but it’ll probably be over in 30 minutes max. And if I want a proper dessert worthy of an Easter feast, I’ll have to make one myself or find a good pastry shop—which’ll be tough here in a small town in Kerala, even though all the ingredients for an amazing dessert are available. In Thailand, on the other hand, I was spoiled for choice…

you’re absolutely right! When you see the chicken you picked being slaughtered right in front of you, and they start plucking it while it’s still moving!

Anyway, let’s talk dessert—tomorrow’s Easter egg hunt! The little ones (who no longer believe in the bells coming from Rome) will be searching in the garden, and I’ll send you photos of the dessert: a pistachio-praline-vanilla croquembouche from the best pastry chef around!

Happy Easter to you! 🙂

Well, blow me down! When you see the chicken you picked being slaughtered right in front of you, and they start plucking it while it’s still moving!

Here, they don’t pluck the chicken, unfortunately! The method is to rip the skin off with the feathers. So you always end up with skinless chicken. They’ve decided that the skin isn’t good. I didn’t understand if it’s for taste or health reasons. But I *love* chicken skin. The method is a quick chop to the neck. It’s no worse than a guillotine for humans. Then they toss the body into a big bin, and you hear/wait. You hear the poor thing—it’s dead but still moving for a good while in the bin. If it weren’t in the bin, I think it’d run around headless. I’ve seen that during Theyyam rituals. Then they chop it into small pieces. I always ask for just 4 or 6 big chunks. After that, they hand you the warm package.

So I’ve stopped buying chicken here. I get pre-cut frozen pieces from the supermarket instead.

Alright, let’s talk dessert—tomorrow’s Easter egg hunt! The little ones (who no longer believe in the bells from Rome) will be searching in the garden, and I’ll send you pics of the dessert: a pistachio-praline-vanilla croquembouche, from the best pastry chef around!

Happy Easter to you! 🙂

I figured as much, which is why I wished you Happy Easter earlier!

But where does Thailand come into all this? Sorry

Here they don’t skin the chicken, unfortunately! The method is to tear off the skin with the feathers. So you always get a skinless chicken here. And they’ve decided that skin isn’t good. I didn’t understand if it’s about taste or health.

I’ve noticed the same thing everywhere I’ve been in India: people don’t eat chicken skin, and chickens are sold without skin. I think it’s more cultural. In a country where Hinduism heavily influences the culture, everything about food revolves around ritual purity. The organic—so all foods—are fundamentally a source of "pollution" for the soul and body, but anything related to animals and bodily secretions is even more so. Since everything religious in India always seeks scientific justification, I imagine they argue that skin is also a disease vector. So it’s no surprise that the skin is removed and not eaten. I also love crispy skin—it’s my favorite part of the chicken! 😋

I noticed the same thing everywhere I went in India: people don’t eat chicken skin, and chickens are sold without skin. I think it’s mostly cultural. In a country where Hinduism deeply influences the culture, everything about food revolves around ritual purity. The organic, so all foods are fundamentally a source of "pollution" for the soul and body, but anything related to animals and bodily secretions is even more so. Since everything religious in India always seeks scientific justification, I imagine they argue that the skin is also a disease vector. So it’s no surprise the skin is removed and not eaten. I love crispy skin too—it’s my favorite part of the chicken! 😋

You’re probably right about the religious aspect, but whole frozen chickens in the supermarket *do* have skin. They’re just so small that I rarely buy them—I prefer chicken pieces.

By the way, since we’re on the topic, I had two guests today who wanted a French dish. As always... But I’ve long since given up cooking French food for Indians. I’d bought mussels and planned to make a Charentaise "mouclade." But the older one told me yesterday: - Oh! Awesome, we’ll make mussels biryani!!! - 🤨🤨🤨 (silently, in my head) So I kept the mussels for myself in the freezer and made "chicken basquaise." But I can’t help cooking my way, to my taste. So I added Kashmiri chili, cumin, garam masala, fresh ginger, and a green chili. I found a bottle of white wine forgotten in a cupboard for a year—it had "maderized" and was delicious. They, on the other hand, ate it without a word, in five minutes, without savoring it. And I like it when people comment, even to say they don’t like it... The younger one stuffed himself with rice, gave his chicken to the other, and threw the peppers/tomatoes in the trash!!!

Another Indian-style meal ending that put me in a foul mood—both of them washed their own plates, which I *hate* (such an Indian habit), and they bolted to the next room, leaving me at the table like an idiot. So, out of spite, I served myself the nice dessert I’d prepared and had a big portion all to myself, plus a good glass of chilled white wine. I didn’t call them back. They could’ve at least not left...

We’re gonna get an earful from everyone following this travel journal for my Thailand trip...

As I’ve already mentioned, I didn’t really have a specific travel plan. I just wanted to explore this new planet to see if I could adapt to it in case I decided to migrate and leave the one where I spend most of my time. I’m talking about the planet India, so different from the planet Europe—and France in particular, which doesn’t suit me either, especially with what it’s becoming and the dark future looming on the horizon.

To those of you here who asked me to share in this travel journal how I experienced this trip and how I perceived Thailand, I’d say I both loved and hated it. If I were to truly say what I perceived negatively about Thailand—and maybe about Thai people—I’m sure I’d face a backlash and an army ready to defend their fantasy of a Terrestrial Paradise where everyone smiles, where "everyone is beautiful, everyone is kind." So, to avoid any conflict or controversy, I’ll stick to the consensus—but with a guilty conscience because I won’t be honest.

One of the main things I didn’t like was the omnipresence of a Buddha distorted by generations of devotees—but more so by the clergy, like all clergies. And also the omnipresence of the King—young, though he’s nearing 75—and his beautiful Queen everywhere on the streets, but especially on altars, as if they were gods, which they’re not. Another thing that struck me on Buddhist altars in Thailand was the presence of a French saint... Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere—from the most modest little temple to the most gigantic and megalomaniacal sanctuary. It’s Saint Donatien, always symbolically represented by a square cube with a simple slit that feminizes it, made of modest wood or even cardboard, up to a golden casket covered in precious stones—but the slit always accessible to generous devotees.

Despite that, I had a blast in Bangkok every day thanks to the extreme freedom I gained from the metro, which gave me total autonomy to go wherever my steps took me once I left the station. For me, the metro gave me this strange feeling of being a bit Thai and not just a tourist when I was in the corridors and train cars. A feeling that was even stronger because I wasn’t the object of any particular attention, unlike in India, where I’m constantly the target of a thousand inquisitive stares in public transport. Some people would even get a crick in their neck trying to visually dissect me.

I appreciated—and even adored—the kindness and helpfulness of the staff when I needed directions or landmarks to navigate those odor-free corridors, without beggars, peddlers, or guys and girls forcing you to listen to their songs, music, or pitches to pity the customer who, in any case, doesn’t care... I loved the comfort of the train cars and the reasonable air conditioning. I savored always being able to find a seat, whether vacant or offered by a kind person.

So I explored Bangkok my way. I was lucky to have two metro stations near my accommodation—one for the elevated metro, the famous sky train (BTS), and the other for the underground (MRT). I’d pick a station serving a neighborhood or area I wanted to visit, and then, off I went, wandering on foot for the rest of the day, trying to avoid tourist spots as much as possible...

That’s how I discovered Wat Suthiwararam, which few people know about. For me, it was a little gem lost among Bangkok’s many religious sites. First, because of its garden with bizarre statues of lace-like stone extraterrestrials. You either love it or you don’t, but it’s a change from the usual flashy gilding.

I was left speechless when I entered the room that seemed to serve as a library, all decorated in red, black, and gold with perfect harmony.



Then I was captivated by the frescoes in the main hall. Now, forgive me, but I didn’t take the time to familiarize myself with the different terms for the various rooms and parts of a Thai temple. Anyway, I don’t even try to remember them anymore because my brain just doesn’t cooperate. I already struggle to recall the names of old friends and colleagues, or even some street names—so Asian terms? I’ve given up. I’ve noticed that during guided tours—unavoidable and inevitable (otherwise, I carefully skip them)—by the time I leave a site or building, I’ve already forgotten everything. You’ll see when you get older: at a certain age, you start to relativize, you trim the excess, and you only retain what really interests you. And even then, your brain plays tricks on you. It’s already great not to be "senile" and to still be able to wander around a bit, indulging all your senses daily.

So, the famous "ordination hall"—I don’t know what it is or what it’s for, and I don’t care. It’s beautiful—or not—and that’s all. My friend Pagaljavab and others, who are big fans of Buddhist temples, will probably find that unacceptable. So, mea culpa, forgive me for not blabbering on about architectural or religious terms.



This main hall was adorned with sumptuous, ultra-modern frescoes—fresh, exquisite, and stripped-down in taste.



What’s more, no one was there to disturb the silence and tranquility of the place. One of the rare temples where I could linger and, without truly meditating, dive into myself and savor the peace and bliss of the moment.

In the back of the hall, a man was meditating, adding to the serenity of the temple. One of the rare temples, one of the rare moments where I felt that well-being and inner peace that never fail to touch me in the Tibetan Buddhist temples of the Himalayas. And even today in some I encounter during my wanderings. I attribute that atmosphere of contemplation to the simplicity of these poor temples, which aren’t buried under the incredible piles of gilding and gold leaf slapped onto them.



I say this because I haven’t been able to find that serenity in most temples due to the constant comings and goings of visitors—whether they’re there to admire, pray, or make offerings...

Wonderful images of a temple I hadn’t discovered, even though it’s in the same area as the hotel we usually stayed at. I love your choices and the photos that come from them.

Don’t hold back—express yourself freely, especially since the people who used to criticize travel journals for no reason haven’t come back (or haven’t yet). Of course, there’s always that duality, those paradoxes in societies. Normal—they’re made up of humans. In Buddhism, there’s the mystical side and the materialistic side. Unlike you, we’ve almost always felt the intensity of faith and prayer in the *wats*, a palpable atmosphere. That said, we were probably predisposed to notice it. Over time, it’s impossible not to realize that this system is one of the planet’s most effective cash machines. There are monks who smoke cigarettes, overuse smartphones or laptops, and—if you follow the news—some who traffic or worse. Then there are those who talk to us, teach us vocabulary, bless us. The most remarkable moment was two years ago, when one gave each of us 100 baht (a symbol that we’d have good luck) under the astonished and admiring gazes of the faithful...

In Thai society itself, you find everything. Thai women often face a harsh reality when the man who fathered their child at 16 doesn’t take responsibility and disappears. It’s common to have a mistress or visit sex workers (90% of prostitution is local). The main scourges are alcohol and gambling. Thais are big gamblers—even at any time of day. It’s no coincidence that casinos have been banned in the country until now. As a result, many women have strong, even tough personalities and often control the purse strings. I’ve been called out on the forum before for saying Thais are like big kids. Some didn’t understand I meant it with affection. This applies to much of Asia, actually. It’s not a universal truth, but I can’t help it if we noticed it every day we were there. And plenty of expats have confirmed it. I’m not sure if it’s innate or learned—or both—the positive side being they stress once when we’d stress five times. Education plays a role, as does school, which doesn’t teach them to take initiative at all. It’s disorienting dealing with so many Thais for whom only the present exists, and tomorrow—or next week or month—is just a vague concept. I always remind Françoise of a little anecdote that makes us laugh, told to us by an expat. This guy had Thai employees, and one day he asked one to prepare something for the next day. The next day, the work wasn’t done. He asked the employee, who replied: "It’s not my fault, I forgot." It seems trivial, but it says a lot.

The main concern for Thais, at any time of day, is not losing face—something they find utterly unbearable. The worst outbursts follow. Losing face means, for example, being harshly scolded, ridiculed, or unable to give someone what they expect. So: - If you want to hire them and they can’t or won’t do the job, they’ll say yes, you’ll wait, and they won’t show up. - If you ask for directions to a specific place and they don’t know, they’ll still point you somewhere. From experience, the wrong way. - If they don’t understand what you’re saying or want, they’ll politely say yes.

On the other hand, you encounter people with incredible politeness. People who endlessly offer you a beautiful smile. Plus, I couldn’t even count how many times they’ve helped us selflessly, with heart. They’re often disarmingly spontaneous and—this is just my take—hilariously funny. That’s why they’re my favorite people, no point hiding it. Buddhism and the idea of reincarnation play a part, but honestly, they don’t need that to be big-hearted.

A small downside: we’ve seen plenty of the less charming ones in the capital, but that’s the big-city effect. The same goes for ultra-touristy areas with lots of money—it’s like they’re not the same people. Some who’ve struck it rich act pretty entitled and look down on everyone. Not surprising, really.

I’ll circle back to one of your earlier points because I have to live up to my reputation for contradicting you. You said drivers respected your crossings at zebra crossings. I nearly fell out of my chair.

In fact, there are two unshakable principles in the Thai driver’s mind: 1) the bigger vehicle has priority, and 2) pedestrians, who have no business on the road, are responsible for not getting in a vehicle’s way. I urge all readers to be extremely careful when crossing streets and roads. Many drivers wonder why time and money were wasted painting those things across the road. We’ve seen countless accidents where pedestrians were hit while crossing, even on zebra crossings. Of course, I’m glad it went well for you, but that’s the exception, not the rule...

Hi Joël, Thanks for your kind message. It really feels good when someone reacts and shares. I keep writing this travel journal because I’ve received some nice responses, and it wouldn’t be fair to those who took the time to read and reply if I just stopped. But honestly, spending so many hours (at least 6 a day) carefully editing photos and writing, only to be met with silence every time I post, isn’t exactly motivating...

Wonderful images of a temple I hadn’t discovered, even though it’s right in the area where we usually stayed. I love your choices and the photos that come from them.

I’m glad you liked my photos. I hope it’s not just a kind gesture on your part—I know how high your standards are for appreciating a photo, given Françoise’s professionalism.

Don’t hold back—express yourself freely, especially since the people who used to criticize some of the statements in travel journals without reason haven’t come back (or haven’t yet).

I’m more disappointed and sorry about the petty, sulky attitudes: “If you didn’t like what I wrote, then I won’t write anything anymore!” The situation is almost comical because I was once called a brat for saying the same thing in a moment of frustration—I’d written that I’d stop my journal since no one was reacting. But I didn’t actually follow through.

Unlike you, we almost always felt the intensity of faith and prayer in the wats, a palpable atmosphere. That said, we were probably already sensitive to it.

I was sensitive to it too, given my Buddhist beliefs and practices, even though I’ve distanced myself from the Buddhist community. I’m not big on “grand ceremonies” or big displays of supposed faith. I live 20 km from Lourdes and often go there—on foot via hiking trails that are shorter and nicer than the road—because it’s a place that radiates good vibes. But only outside of tourist seasons and pilgrimages, or late at night when there’s no one around to disrupt the serenity and quiet reflection I’m looking for with all their noisy theatrics. While Hindu temples are a real circus in every sense of the word, I’ve always found silence, calm, and peace in Buddhist temples in India. Maybe I just lack equanimity.

There are monks who smoke, who overuse their smartphones or laptops, and if you follow the news, some even get involved in trafficking or worse. But then there are those who talk to us, teach us vocabulary, bless us. The most remarkable was two years ago—a monk gave each of us 100 baht (a symbol that we’d have good luck) under the astonished and admiring gazes of the faithful...

I’ve experienced that kind of welcome a few times, but only in remote temples in the countryside. I’ve been blessed multiple times, with protective bracelets, etc. No one gave me money, but in an unknown temple, a monk silently—without any explanation, which I appreciated—went to get me a protective amulet in “gold” 🤑 representing a spiritual “master.” I placed it in a good spot on my ecumenical altar at home in India.

It’s quite common to have a mistress or visit sex workers (90% of prostitution is local).

It’s funny you mention that because I was actually thinking of bringing it up based on my daily observations in both Bangkok and Chiang Mai.

As a result, many women have a strong, even harsh character and often control the purse strings.

Same in India. And while people say women there are considered insignificant, they make up for it at home with their husbands and children—especially the male ones.

I’ve already been called out on the forum for saying Thais are like big kids. Some didn’t understand I said it with affection. It applies to much of Asia, actually. It’s not a generalization, but we noticed it every day we were there. And many expats confirmed it.

You’ve often made remarks about Thais and Thailand that match exactly how I feel about India. Especially that childlike side you mention and the lack of psychological maturity. Many young Indian men act like teenagers well into their 40s. Then suddenly, they swing the other way—becoming austere and mentally “old” by 50, physically by 60. What I’m saying is just my observation, not a generalization, based on years of interacting with Indians.

Education certainly plays a role, but so does school, which doesn’t teach them to take initiative at all.

It’s exactly the same in India, and I got flak too when I said Indians lack ideas and imagination. I was specifically talking about cooking—no one changes a single thing in a recipe! But it applies to many aspects of daily life. No one takes initiative. Everything is memorized and repetitive. Nothing’s funnier than watching a protest march in the street! No, school doesn’t teach them to think or express personal opinions. From kindergarten to the highest levels of higher education.

The main concern for Thais, at any time of day, is not losing face, which is particularly unbearable for them.

I’ve often wondered what you meant by “losing face” when you mentioned it in your journals. What does it mean to you? To me, losing face only applies when there are witnesses and you’re publicly humiliated.

- Not being able to give someone what they expect from you. As a result: - You want to hire them, but they don’t want to (or can’t) do the job: they’ll say yes, you’ll wait, and they won’t show up. - You ask for directions to a specific place, and they don’t know where it is: they’ll still point you in a direction. The wrong one, from experience. - They don’t understand what you’re saying or what you want: they’ll politely say yes.

Exactly the same in India. Copy/paste.

A small downside: we saw quite a few less pleasant ones in the capital, but that’s the effect of a very big city. Same in ultra-touristy areas where a lot of money flows—it’s like they’re not even the same people. Some who’ve made a fortune put on quite a show and look down on everyone.

For me, it was the majority, maybe because it was Bangkok, the big city. But also in Chiang Mai because of tourists. They’re exasperated by tourists’ behavior. I’ll come back to this later in my journal.

I have to contradict one of your earlier statements—gotta live up to my reputation! You said drivers respected your crossings at zebra crossings. I nearly fell off my chair. There are two unshakable principles in the mind of a Thai driver: 1) the biggest vehicle has priority, and 2) pedestrians, who have no business on the road, are responsible for not getting in the way of cars. I strongly advise all readers to be extremely careful when crossing streets and roads. Many drivers wonder why we waste time and money painting those things across the road. There are countless accidents where pedestrians get hit while crossing, even on zebra crossings. Of course, I’m glad it went well for you, but that’s the exception, not the rule...

Well, now it’s my turn to contradict your contradiction. From what I’ve read and heard, you only get around by taxi—air-conditioned, no less—you’ve said it enough and even recommended it. You’ve never stayed long in Bangkok or any big city, and that’s probably for the best. Me, I only got around on foot—aside from the metro between places—averaging 12 km a day, which adds up to nearly 200 km during my stay in Bangkok, spread over 8 to 10 hours a day. So I had plenty of time and opportunity to observe and experience the situation. I think I have a better sense of urban walking than you probably do. So, I *insist*: YES, drivers *always* stopped to let me cross the street, even outside of crosswalks, whether it was a big avenue or a small side street, day or night. And they never drive like maniacs—they take the time to see if someone’s about to cross. It’s actually impressive. And it was extremely comfortable for me, given what I’m used to in India, where it’s exactly like you described. And no, it’s *not* “the exception, not the rule.” Did they reach this point in two or three years after racking up a bunch of fines? Just like the French when it became mandatory and penalized. French drivers struggled at first, but now it’s second nature—just like helmets for motorcycles or seat belts.

Thanks, Joël, for giving me the chance to expand on things I hadn’t mentioned. You see why interaction is important—it leads us to say things we hadn’t thought of when writing the journal or didn’t have time to mention or develop. And it gives us the chance to add to what we’ve said or explain why we said it.

When travelers stop by the engine room and chat with the “engineer” for a bit, it makes them feel like they exist—not just working for travelers’ enjoyment—and it encourages them to shovel a little more coal into the furnace.

But honestly, spending so many hours (at least 6 a day) editing photos and crafting what you write, only to be met with silence every time you post—it’s not exactly motivating to keep going...

Leaving a comment on every post does feel a bit like being a groupie, doesn’t it 😉? Just kidding.

I follow this travel journal, just like Attila’s. The two are polar opposites, but they both take me back a few years, and I see huge differences between then and now! One day, I’ll post two or three of my own travel journals (some of you might already know them) to highlight what I see as the changes—though keep in mind, this is my personal take and might not reflect reality!

In the meantime, I’ll keep reading and enjoying your photos and comments 🙂. Just one thing: we walked a lot in Bangkok and elsewhere, and you *really* had to watch out for reckless drivers 🏴‍☠️. If they’re now as well-behaved as can be, that’s one heck of a change!

Looking forward to the next installment...

I agree with you about the similarities to (general) Indian behavior: not losing face, never saying no or "I can’t," if someone asks for directions, sending them anywhere rather than admitting they don’t know, lack of personal initiative when it goes against the group, an unfinished adolescent side and premature old age! I’ve known someone close who could never decide on a dish to eat, clothes to buy, a place to go, or something to do—it was always "whatever you want!"—but who knew exactly what they wanted when alone. 😄 Fortunately, these are generalizations; there are plenty of exceptions that prove the rule!

Commenting on every post feels a bit like being a groupie, doesn’t it? 😉

Totally agree! Especially since only four of you are reacting to this travel journal... 🤣 I’m not asking for a reaction to every post... But a string of posts with no comments at all isn’t great either... And definitely not always the same people... Yeah, I noticed that when reading some journals—same contributors, almost always the same kind of remarks... For an outside reader, it’s really annoying...

there are plenty of exceptions that prove the rule!

Yes, thankfully! And in every area, I love the exceptions that prove the rule... You must know that...

Hello Jean-Marie,

I always read your travel journal with interest, so I thought I’d chime in. Following your posts, I find (or don’t find) similarities with our trip to Thailand, but I didn’t stay long enough in Bangkok to add to or contradict what you describe. We mostly traveled by boat on the river since we were staying in a guest-house near a pier. Here’s what I wrote on my site: This guest-house is right next to the “Tha Thewet” pier because the metro doesn’t come out here... and taking the boat is so much nicer.

We also walked, of course, and it’s true that the sidewalks are wide and not too cluttered with vehicles, materials, potholes, etc., like in India. In India, nothing is more infuriating than drivers who think they own the road, cutting in front of pedestrians without a second thought, or scooter riders who park right in front of you, just like that...

On the other hand, in Thailand, we rode scooters and bikes, and that was pretty risky!!!

When you mention the king’s portraits everywhere, I see that hasn’t changed since our visit. I thought it was just because the country was in mourning. We were there in 2017, right after the king’s death. Here’s what I wrote on my personal site: King Rama IX died in November 2016, and the whole country is still in mourning (it lasts a year). All over Thailand, you see huge portraits of the king at every stage of his life. The streets around the Palace are blocked and guarded by police. Many pilgrims come to leave offerings and pay their respects to the late king. His son is set to succeed him, and you’re starting to see his portrait everywhere. But he’ll have a hard time replacing his father in the hearts of Thais.

I agree with you about Asian markets (especially in Vietnam)—you see so many live animals crammed into tiny cages: toads, frogs, turtles, birds, grasshoppers... We even saw cats in 2011! Maybe things have changed since then (I hope so)... We never saw that in India (except for poor chickens, but they suffer the same fate in many countries).

See you soon... Anne

To an outside reader, it’s really annoying...

I agree, and it’s true that this kind of cliquishness doesn’t always encourage people to chime in.

For an outside reader, it’s really annoying...

I agree, and it’s true that this kind of cliquishness doesn’t always encourage people to chime in.

Yeah, but we don’t always have interesting info to add. Plus, I’m always afraid of cluttering up a travel journal by adding my two cents!

Yeah, but we don’t always have interesting info to add. Plus, I’m always afraid of cluttering up a travel journal by adding my two cents!

Same here.

I’d also add that there are way fewer posts on travel journals and on VF in general. We’ll see how things evolve.

You can absolutely chime in on a travel journal without "adding your two cents"—just saying you enjoyed the story or the photos is enough to make someone’s day! But when it’s just a closed circle, I’ll admit it feels a bit awkward—like you’re intruding.

I’d add that there are far fewer comments on travel journals, and on VoyageForum in general.

I’m not sure about fewer comments on VF overall, but on travel journals, it’s definitely true :)...

Actually, I didn’t express myself well. I’d posted some slightly provocative photos of the market and, sure, I was expecting reactions… But it fell flat. Then a friend told me: I don’t like your Thailand travel journal, it’s too long to read—I lose interest after three lines… I prefer your *Little Nothings of Kerala*. I don’t read your Thai journal anymore…

So I was just wondering if it’s even worth spending so many hours writing, choosing photos, resizing them, making them look good, etc…

And then I compare myself to other travel journals that I personally find really mediocre: bland, shallow, monotonous text, lifeless photos with no artistry, yet they get glowing praise from everywhere. So I start questioning the point of my own journals. I tell myself I must be out of touch…

Hi Marien,

I’m finally deciding to chime in… I follow your two travel journals every day—they fascinate me! But, like other commenters, I don’t react (out of fear of coming off as a flatterer? Lack of the right style? No strong or shocking ideas? Laziness? Fear of looking ridiculous? A bit of all that?...)

But I loooove your travel journals and those of other India, Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos lovers—those "wanderings" so well-written, informative, unpretentious, spontaneous, and beautifully illustrated that I won’t name any for fear of forgetting someone!

There, I’ve said it, and I won’t say it again…

You’re lucky—Calaf doesn’t chime in often, and if he’s full of praise, it’s not for nothing.

You can absolutely chime in on a travel journal without "adding your two cents"—just saying you enjoyed the story or the photos is really appreciated! But when it’s all just an insider’s club, I’ll admit it gets a bit awkward—you can end up feeling like you’re intruding.

I’d add that there are far fewer comments on travel journals, and on VoyageForum in general, these days.

I’m not sure about fewer comments on VF overall, but on travel journals, it’s definitely true :)

Over time, I’ve come to understand a lot of things. Some people don’t comment on travel journals out of modesty or respect, and they’re no worse than those who pay compliments, steal ideas, and never share their own discoveries. One day, you just open your eyes…

That insider’s-club vibe is pretty relative on a public forum. Maybe it’s just because there aren’t many active participants. Even 10+ years ago, I was disappointed by how few commenters there were compared to readers. But you’re never satisfied—if I’d gotten way more comments, I’d have been annoyed by how much it bloated my journal.

The internet’s just like that: lots of people graze here and there, come and go. Actually commenting takes too much time, and then there’s the laziness factor…

Anyway, goal for Jean-Marie: finish his travel journal before the end of the year. :P

And then a friend told me: I don’t like your travel journal about Thailand,

So what? Just because 1 person (even if it’s a friend) says they don’t like it, you’re gonna drop your journal? And what about the rest of us who read you? Are you dropping us too?

That makes no sense—so you keep writing, and we’ll keep reading 🙂.

And then a friend told me: I don’t like your travel journal about Thailand,

So what? Just because 1 person (even if it’s a friend) says they don’t like it, you’re gonna drop your journal? And what about the rest of us who read you? You’re dropping us too?

That’s nonsense—so you keep writing, and we’ll keep reading 🙂.

Maybe we should get back to how this debate started... I said I’d never give up, out of respect for those who read me, and in passing, I kinda hinted I was disappointed by the low number of replies... Then the discussion spiraled into something I’d have preferred to avoid. Too scared K... (or someone else) would lecture me again like a bratty kid or the coal-shoveling train conductor... for travelers who don’t even care... Once is enough. Really need to reread what I wrote... Have a good evening. I’m about to hit the sack. Oh, and tomorrow I’m off to Wayanad for a wedding. Won’t be back before Monday... So don’t think I’m sulking. I’m just living my life... I’m in the home stretch of my trip... Already thinking about packing, Air France pulling a fast one on me—I hate that airline!—and all the hassles of being away for another 6 months... And... I don’t wanna go back to France...

Forgot the main thing: Thanks, Dolma !

I just reread myself

Hello Joël, Thanks for your kind message. It feels good when someone reacts and shares... I keep writing this travel journal because I’ve received a few nice responses, and it wouldn’t be fair to those who took the time to read and reply if I stopped now. But honestly, spending so many hours (at least 6 a day) carefully editing photos and writing, only to be met with silence every time I post—it’s not exactly motivating to keep going...

Thanks, Joël, for giving me the chance to add things I hadn’t mentioned before. You can see here why interaction matters—it leads us to say things we hadn’t thought of in the moment while writing the journal, or things we didn’t have time to mention or expand on. And interaction gives us the opportunity to build on what was said or explain why we said it in the first place.

When travelers stop by the engine room for a chat with the “engineer,” it makes them feel like they exist and aren’t just slaving away for others’ travel enjoyment. It encourages them to shovel a little extra coal into the fire.

That’s all... After that, it all went to hell. No need to make a big deal out of it, right?

It just occurred to me that someone writing their travel journal while worrying about what the naysayers might say is like an author writing their work based on supposed reactions from literary critics.

That would just strip away authenticity, talent, singularity, and spontaneity. Stay as you are, don’t change a thing; when the time comes, you’ll connect with those who prove to be reasonable.

Of course, Marien, Jojonne is right... We're waiting for the rest... Whenever you have time... Have a great stay in Wayanad...

Yes, keep going, it’s well written—no tired clichés like in so many travel stories. Few people actually walk around BKK, just for that alone…