We braced ourselves before entering the crowd of locals and foreigners at the night market on Rachadamnoen Road, situated just down the alley from where we dwell. A friend and I took a left turn, but the rest decided not to; and so the immersion began. Stalls lined the edge of a wide street that stretched far too long for my poor eyesight to comprehend, on a road far too complicated to pronounce.
As I tried to grasp the atmosphere, I was caught off-guard by a bunch of promoters wearing white. Their t-shirts had, “I <3 JPN” (or so I think) printed on them. Perplexed at what exactly they were chanting, I soon realised that Thai night markets were not, in many ways, the night markets I had always been used to in KL; namely the fact that these markets are not just for micro-entrepreneurs to supply to the demanding, but it was also a public space for those who wish to exhibit their creativity.
Starbucks indicates regular presence of tourists
We walked further down the road, past temples and then across the road to where remnants of the old Fort wall still stood majestically reminding the city and its people of its history. Behind the orange-moss wall, the capitalistic emblems of Starbucks, McDonald’s and 7-Eleven shone light on a section of the market that seemed to only cater to tourists; sarongs, Thai silk and lanterns occupied many tables within the vicinity and I suddenly became nauseous at the thought of being too much of a tourist.
We quickly headed back to where the locals were and then another mini epiphany dawned upon us; the ethics of cleanliness that has been conditioned into the minds of the Thai people is worthy of envy. There was no dustbin in sight, and yet the streets were considerably clean with no smell of decomposing half-eaten fried foods. Our inner moral police told us not to be non-Thai by littering. And so we straddled along, garbage in hand and watched four blind men playing in a band; all in line, probably singing about sunshine. How refreshing.
Sunday Market lays on both sides of the now derelict fort wall
I further indulged in the notion of buskers, watching those who played with their traditional instruments, as it struck a chord with the pseudo-musician in me. I loved the fact that the noises that engulfed the market were not that of shouts or loud generators, but of music. However I was suddenly brought back to reality by the image of a young girl of about four or five in her tribal garment dancing by one of the brightly lit stalls. The female owner of a particular stall was engrossed in the little girl’s dancing while I became engrossed in the idea of a child being made to dance for money. We decided some sense of serenity was needed to exorcise our exaggerated thoughts of child labour abuses and thus promptly made our way to the nearest temple.
The temple compound housed makeshift stalls for Thais to sell their goods, and this I found the most peculiar. For I always assumed a place of worship is for nothing but just that; my Malaysian mentality of compartmentalising thus was being challenged. The stalls sold goods that both Thais and foreigners would find useful alongside plentiful food stalls.
The Buddhist lifestyle integrated with everyday consumerism
We heard the chanting of a monk, while ladies prayed outside ever so intently and sincerely; I felt like I was intruding. We saw Thais buy sushi while westerners purchased Pad Thai, locals buying foreign food, foreigners buying local food; all of this happened amongst the statues of Buddha that looked on with blessings in tow. And if it was not Buddha who protected us, there was always the tourist police.
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