I don't know what to do with myself today. I've done weird Bangkok, I've done mainstream Bangkok, and I can't afford high-end shopping Bangkok (and there's no in-between: it's either Mango or Mulberry. I'm more Maxmara). I guess I'll survey the stores one more time. I want to go home.
Behind the Navalai, awaiting the Chao Phraya boat, I glance to my left. Holy crap, what is that guy wearing? A pink, floppy hat; a sleeveless pink t-shirt (with a saying on the front: can't read it); and pink socks with a teddy bear motif -- that's what he's wearing. It's times like this that I really hate traveling alone: I need to share my horror and disbelief with somebody.
I like taking the boat to the Skytrain and riding into the city. The ride is peaceful and the scenery is interesting and it's much less stressful than commuting via taxi. That's Wat Arun that we're coasting past.
I'm bored with the shops. I'm bored with Bangkok. I remind myself that the weather is cold, cold, cold back in Chicago.
I return to the Ruen Nuad for a massage, and in my tetchy state, view it in a more critical light. I'm suspicious of the hygiene. I don't think they're changing the linens on the massage mat. I'm tempted to complain, but I hold back, not wanting to come-off as high maintenance and snobby. When in Rome...But still...yikes.
I pick-up a white trash supper at the supermarket down the street (Tiger beer, breadsticks, processed cheese, pistachios, and the Asian answer to Rice Krispy treats -- which look good but taste bad) and return to the Navalai. I have no interest in paying $30 for the seafood buffet and New Year's Eve entertainment on the deck when I can picnic on my balcony, flip through the new issue of Thailand Tattler, and watch the show from above for free.
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