Barfight in Bangkok
It’s official: leggings are not pants. I learn that the hard way, standing outside The Grand Palace, hoping to get some pictures with my fancy DSLR without having to pay the entrance fee. Not wanting to put in a 200 baht deposit for cover-up, when I’m not going to pay the entrance fee, I have to leave, disappointed by my lack of pants and willingness to be a proper tourist. I’ll have to do a rain check on the whole meeting the King and planning our joint birthday party.
Dizzy from a few ballons and rough dancing on Khao San Road the night before, we head towards the pier through the street markets. One of the markets, the Tatien market, is the most stinking and disgusting market I’ve ever seen. Everything is fish scales and rotten stuff. Yikes.
We take a boat to Wat Arun, or Temple of Dawn, but once again, none of us want to pay entrance. I am getting increasingly upset about half-assing and rushing it, rather than enjoying it.
At least we took one of these photos at Wat Arun, and then a lady came running and wanted 40 baht from us
Our next, and unfortunately final stop, is Wat Pho, wherein you can see the Reclining Buddha.
It’s impossible taking pictures with Buddha, gosh…
…Except I got all 43 m of him squeezed in on this photo
Then we take a Skytrain from MBK to Terminal 21. It’s a massive shopping mall, where every floor is a famous big city, like Paris, Tokyo and San Fransisco. Pretty cool, actually. We have fish and chips on Henry’s insistence, and take a look at all the pretty things we can’t buy.
Kirstin really likes this handbag
At night, we do some shopping on Khao San Road, before grabbing some drinks and a hookah at a bar. Here, we meet a group of people from England, and together we go to a smaller bar with great music, so we can dance.
Hours and hours later, we end up in a nightclub with expensive drinks and horrible music. Here, we meet guy X, who like Sara is celebrating his birthday that night. As they start talking, a girl goes between them and starts making out with X. According to Sara, he asks her to shake this girl off, so she keeps talking to him, and suddenly there is punching and hair pulling on the dancefloor. Sara is gone, and I confront the girl I think is to blame, but she points at her friend, who is the real culprit. Some friend, hey? I tell her – in an angry tone obviously – that she can’t punch people, and our discussion is brief, as she throws an ice cube at my eye, and I am being pushed away from her by three other people as I try to regain my sight. Suddenly, she is standing right in front of me, her back turned to me, and I punch her. In the head, with my fist. I have never hit anyone before, and I probably don’t do it rihgt, but I hit a girl while she isn’t looking, and I run away. I am a coward. As I try to find Sara and Kirstin, I see the girl and her friends pulling at Kirstin’s hair. We separate them and get them kicked out, but soon after the security guard kicks us out too, since the girls outside keep complaining. I am livid and not in the mood for more partying, so I am in bed by 3.30. On my way home, I see the girls we have been fighting at McDonald’s, so my midnight snack plans are ruined and I just head straight to the hostel. Less than an hour later, Sara comes into the room, covered in scratches and crying. The girls have attacked her while she was on her way home. And they stole her cheesesburger. Those bastards. The next day, she has a vertical red line under her eye, and Kirstin has a black eye (she punched the girls back though, I should add).
All in all, succesful night, I guess.