Spent the afternoon hanging out in Bangkok’s backpacking tourist zone, Khao San Road. Languages overheard: German, Israeli, Australian, Kiwi, Yank, British, French, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, and a smattering of Eperanto (I think; could’ve been Latin, but I doubt it).
Khao San is an inexplicable draw for young and old, hippies and global nomads of all colors and configurations. I still can’t figure out what attracts all these travelers…possibly the gajillion sketchy tattoo parlors, Indian 24-hour three-piece-suit masters, the *muay Thai* back alley boxing, or the knockoff *everything* (Rolexs, Louis Vuitton, Saks, etc.).
To me, living in a semi-similar “zone” on Austin’s Sixth Street, it’s all no big deal, although I’m totally digging on the femme fatales in rainbow sarongs. Color me male.
Half my Bangkok friends are out of town for the next week — everybody goes home to visit their family at the same time, I guess — so I’m on my own and keeping out of (i.e. into) trouble (i.e. hiding behind BKK’s legendary mountains of trash and throwing empty Singha bottles at Australians). Fun city, baby.