Dropping by Bangkok is always a contrast against the uniformity of Singapore. There’s always something fascinating about seeing how people live.
Yesterday we got lost and landed up walking a stretch through some low rise homes. The paths were narrow, doors were opened and the chatter of dinner conversations breezed past as we tried to search for Sugar Ray. It reminded me of Kampongs. You could just easily drop by your neighbours’ place in case you ran out of Soy Sauce.
We did find the bar eventually, housed in a plot that was an unfinished construction site, passed a mummified storm trooper, into dim lit red washed room. Vinyl was playing and glass concoctions lined the walls, it was like a mix of being in Walter Bishop’s (Fringe) lab and an apothecary. Something about the unknown and hard to find place against the warm and amiable atmosphere inside with cocktails made it a lovely night. Zerlina had a cinnamon stick lighted and the flavour diffused into her citrus mix.
Quite unrelated to my host of pictures. I write what I could not capture to remember, the little bits, right now at a freezing pool under frangipani trees.
The grand palace was a sweltering mess of sun and tourists. One could perhaps blend in as a Thai National for a free entry. The patterns all around were kaleidoscopic and as mesmerising as the golden Chedi. The murals yet another world of gods and monsters, watching people gawk and take in it’s stories.
The Karmakamet, a soap factory turned to eatery. At every knook, there were splashes of tales waiting to be uncovered, only for those who looked carefully.
Mornings were often an assortment of coffee. That date was dotted with tiny cakes at Ink and Lion. It’s size undermining the taste, perhaps made for small people in the Shire. A piece of pleasure, quick to go, leaving your thoughts on it all day.
Drawing and musing 