Friday 13 July
We leave Bangkok, Thailand tomorrow for Butterworth (Penang), Malaysia, so we feel we really ought to visit the Grand Palace, which is to Bangkok what Buckingham Palace is to the UK - the royal residence of the King of Thailand; the current king is Rama IX, who is 84 years old, and has been on the throne for 66 years, just a bit longer than our own Queen Elizabeth II.
We get to the Grand Palace using the Sky Train (we're old hands at using the ticket machines now) and then the boat taxi. We'd been warned to make sure we take the public boat taxi, which costs 15 baht (30p) - there are private ferries who will try to get you to climb aboard their river cruise boats, and will take you the same distance for 150 baht (US$5). It's great on the boat, which is crammed full of people, both locals and tourists. The ticket collector threads her way through the passengers, shaking her tin of coins, asking people to pay their fares.
The street which leads up to the Grand Palace is lined with car-boot sale/flea market stalls. It's fascinating to see what's on offer; tangled heaps of costume jewellery on cloths on the ground, with people foraging through them; second-hand shoes, polished up and neatly arranged in pairs; old watches, second hand clothes, and another heap on the ground, this time of old spectacles. There are numerous stalls selling cheap new jewellery, and second-hand buddha pendants of all sizes. There's a stall selling used stamps on envelopes with foreign addresses, a woman who's crocheting hats faster than the wind, and who is surrounded by the fruits of her labour.
Finally, already sticky in the 35 deg temperatures, we arrive at the main gate. We've read that you have to have covered shoulders in the palace - I've brought my wide silk shawl for this purpose, and cover my arms (I'm wearing a sleeveless blouse) before going in. I'm immediately stopped by an official who tells me a shawl is no good; I must be wearing at least short sleeves. Not to worry though; I can borrow a short-sleeved overblouse for free, but I need to join that long queue over there, to leave a deposit for said item.
Reg had already dressed in long-sleeved cycling top and long trousers to comply with the dress code, so he sits down under a tree to wait for me. I'm really annoyed at this waste of time. My shawl (knotted at the front) covers my arms more fully than the short-sleeved shirt I am given. Yes, it's good that you can borrow a cover-up shirt for free, but where is the common sense in all this? My feeling of frustration puts a damper on my visit.
The Grand Palace covers an area of 218,000 square metres and is surrounded by 4 walls, 1900 metres long. Originally built in 1782, and extensively renovated for the bicentenary celebrations in 1982, it is indeed a splendid collection of buildings; a riot of colour and exquisite architectural detail, splashed everywhere with gold paint, it is well worth seeing. The renovated murals are a joy to behold. There are sacred places where you have to take off your shoes (why are there separate shoe racks, I wonder, labelled "Thai shoes" and Foreigners Shoes"?) Reg and I particularly enjoy visiting a museum within the palace grounds which shows some of the pre-renovation architecture, and explains how some of the renovation was done. For example, coloured ceramic bowls were broken up to provide the small pieces used in the intricate mosaic work.
After a couple of hours we're both wilting. An icecream and a 7-Up revive us slightly but we decide we don't have the energy to visit Vimanmek, the "world's largest golden teakwood mansion." We call it a day, and wander back through the flea-market, and board the jam-packed boat taxi, where it's standing room only. I notice that it's the same young woman ticket collector as before, still shaking her tin of coins to remind us to pay our fare.
It's heaven to hop into the cool, air-conditioned Skytrain - we even get a seat, and I take out my wet flannel to wipe my sweat-drenched face and neck.
Back at the hostel, Reg watches the Tour de France while I wander off to the laundry room to wash and dry our big bag of washing ready for our journey to Malaysia tomorrow. I set the alarm on my mobile, and fall asleep until the washing's done; when I awake the rain is sheeting down outside.
We revisit a local restaurant where the lovely staff remember us and are really pleased to see us; then I pack ready for tomorrow, while Reg checks to see how the Tour is going. It's been a real plus that he's been able to watch it live on Eurosport at this hostel.
I ponder over all our luggage (a good proportion of which is goods we've bought while travelling), wondering how much we'll need to parcel up and send home when we get to Singapore, to avoid being overweight on the aeroplane.
We leave Bangkok, Thailand tomorrow for Butterworth (Penang), Malaysia, so we feel we really ought to visit the Grand Palace, which is to Bangkok what Buckingham Palace is to the UK - the royal residence of the King of Thailand; the current king is Rama IX, who is 84 years old, and has been on the throne for 66 years, just a bit longer than our own Queen Elizabeth II.
We get to the Grand Palace using the Sky Train (we're old hands at using the ticket machines now) and then the boat taxi. We'd been warned to make sure we take the public boat taxi, which costs 15 baht (30p) - there are private ferries who will try to get you to climb aboard their river cruise boats, and will take you the same distance for 150 baht (US$5). It's great on the boat, which is crammed full of people, both locals and tourists. The ticket collector threads her way through the passengers, shaking her tin of coins, asking people to pay their fares.
The street which leads up to the Grand Palace is lined with car-boot sale/flea market stalls. It's fascinating to see what's on offer; tangled heaps of costume jewellery on cloths on the ground, with people foraging through them; second-hand shoes, polished up and neatly arranged in pairs; old watches, second hand clothes, and another heap on the ground, this time of old spectacles. There are numerous stalls selling cheap new jewellery, and second-hand buddha pendants of all sizes. There's a stall selling used stamps on envelopes with foreign addresses, a woman who's crocheting hats faster than the wind, and who is surrounded by the fruits of her labour.
Finally, already sticky in the 35 deg temperatures, we arrive at the main gate. We've read that you have to have covered shoulders in the palace - I've brought my wide silk shawl for this purpose, and cover my arms (I'm wearing a sleeveless blouse) before going in. I'm immediately stopped by an official who tells me a shawl is no good; I must be wearing at least short sleeves. Not to worry though; I can borrow a short-sleeved overblouse for free, but I need to join that long queue over there, to leave a deposit for said item.
Reg had already dressed in long-sleeved cycling top and long trousers to comply with the dress code, so he sits down under a tree to wait for me. I'm really annoyed at this waste of time. My shawl (knotted at the front) covers my arms more fully than the short-sleeved shirt I am given. Yes, it's good that you can borrow a cover-up shirt for free, but where is the common sense in all this? My feeling of frustration puts a damper on my visit.
The Grand Palace covers an area of 218,000 square metres and is surrounded by 4 walls, 1900 metres long. Originally built in 1782, and extensively renovated for the bicentenary celebrations in 1982, it is indeed a splendid collection of buildings; a riot of colour and exquisite architectural detail, splashed everywhere with gold paint, it is well worth seeing. The renovated murals are a joy to behold. There are sacred places where you have to take off your shoes (why are there separate shoe racks, I wonder, labelled "Thai shoes" and Foreigners Shoes"?) Reg and I particularly enjoy visiting a museum within the palace grounds which shows some of the pre-renovation architecture, and explains how some of the renovation was done. For example, coloured ceramic bowls were broken up to provide the small pieces used in the intricate mosaic work.
After a couple of hours we're both wilting. An icecream and a 7-Up revive us slightly but we decide we don't have the energy to visit Vimanmek, the "world's largest golden teakwood mansion." We call it a day, and wander back through the flea-market, and board the jam-packed boat taxi, where it's standing room only. I notice that it's the same young woman ticket collector as before, still shaking her tin of coins to remind us to pay our fare.
It's heaven to hop into the cool, air-conditioned Skytrain - we even get a seat, and I take out my wet flannel to wipe my sweat-drenched face and neck.
Back at the hostel, Reg watches the Tour de France while I wander off to the laundry room to wash and dry our big bag of washing ready for our journey to Malaysia tomorrow. I set the alarm on my mobile, and fall asleep until the washing's done; when I awake the rain is sheeting down outside.
We revisit a local restaurant where the lovely staff remember us and are really pleased to see us; then I pack ready for tomorrow, while Reg checks to see how the Tour is going. It's been a real plus that he's been able to watch it live on Eurosport at this hostel.
I ponder over all our luggage (a good proportion of which is goods we've bought while travelling), wondering how much we'll need to parcel up and send home when we get to Singapore, to avoid being overweight on the aeroplane.
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