The Madness of Khao San

Khao San Road. Tourist trap. Locals' money maker. People watcher's fix. With constant activity, this little strip of pavement at the centre of Bangkok is a sight to behold.

The first thing I notice on the Road is that sounds bleed into each other. Here's one of the suit sellers, a well-dressed Thai man, hair slicked back, one big smile asking his question. Here's the bootlegged music store playing a piece of its baseline. Here's the woman at her stall hawking noodles on the spot.

"My friend!boomboomphadthai!want suit?" But the sounds fade in and out, people change and the next minute I get a mix of tee shirt vendor-bar-fabric merchant. "Tee-shiiiiiirt!Youwantbeer?bag?cocktail?"

Once I sort through the noise enough to see what's happening around me, I notice the signs above my head. Mr. Yai's Tattoo Parlour confidently proclaims, Professinally New Needle Every Time Open 11:00am. A banner advertises the local police force: Meet Our Men in Brown, We Know This Town! The one-person drink boards promise cocktails and beer that are Very Strong. One adds, We Don't Check ID.

Then there are the tee-shirts. Bangkok is filled to bursting with them and has designs for everyone. I see the standard shirts for Chang and Singha Beers, the strange but tourist-friendly phrase, Same Same But Different. I see the appeal to backpackers: If Lost and/or Drunk, Please Return to... with an address block below. I see the stick figure bride and groom above the words Game Over. An American who's getting married in Thailand tells me he is going to buy that one.

"I'm going to wear it when I meet my fiancee at the airport," he laughs, "but I figure it gets one use and then goes away."

At night, I go down to the Road for the crowd watching. I can sit in the same place night after night, a collection of plastic stools on the sidewalk called Kim's Cocktails, and never see the same thing twice. Hundreds of people shuffle by in minutes, thousands in an hour. Many have heads that are set to a permanent swivel, eyes that barely blink. It's only the people who have just arrived in town who don't look around; once the bags are gone, they'll look up and see what they missed the first time.

Tonight, there's a tourist, all dreadlocks and grunge, who's peer-pressuring other travellers to drink at Kim's. He's even picked up on the basic advertising tactic: get in front of the intended target, place drink board - Very Strong Cocktails - innocently at their eye level, and just keep talking. The aw shucks grin doesn't hurt either.

The flower sellers are here too, combative little girls who slip in and out of tiny gaps in the crowd. One calls me a loser and sticks out her tongue when I refuse her a thumb war. A loss would cost me 100 baht and she's banking on too many beers in my system. I'm banking on the same. With a poke to my side and a mock pout, she skips off into the noise to challenge someone else, roses towering above her head.

What's next?, I think.

Next is Mr. Thailand, who seals Khao San's fate. He wears cheaply made sunglasses that cover his face and a knee-length jacket that would be zebra-striped except for the butterfly pattern. Normally, he's also on a massive bike, which is covered in advertisements for every business in Bangkok and plays pop music from forty years ago. Tonight, though, he's on foot and gazes at the crowd like any other tourist.

The place is that shocking: even locals can be impressed by it. One does not simply go to see the sights and sounds of Khao San Road. One goes to stare, to gape, to blink and gape again. One goes to see Khao San Road happen. Welcome to the madness.