So then, Bangkok...

So, Bangkok.  So far, everything you've heard (or at least, everything I heard) is true.  It's hot, manic, the traffic's terrible, the temples are astonishing, the food is fantastic and so, so cheap.  The streets reek with the scent of fried chicken and petrol fumes and on every corner there are battered carts piled high with fresh fruit, frying pancakes, bubbling dim sum and unidentifiable (and possibly inedible) fried lumps of...um, friedness.

Yesterday passed off in a whirl of bejewelled temples and towering Buddhas; blistering blue skies and glittering gold decor.  With our hands held by a local guide, we discovered the most popular corners of the city; joined the throngs of Chinese tourists at the city's major sights - the Grand Palace, Wat Arun and the Reclining Buddha.  Much has been written about them all and I'm  sure there's little new to say, apart from to pass on the giddy, almost childish pleasure that stumbling around such vivid, intricate, blindingly bright buildings gave me.

Today has been a reminder of the joy of exploring with no set aim, destination or site in mind.  After a visit to the gorgeous Jim Thompson House (jimthompsonhouse.com) we took a stroll along the adjoining 'klong' - one of the canals that lattice Bangkok, lined with ramshackle houses strung about with lines of washing and battered oil tins holding palm plants and slightly sad-eyed geraniums.  Long boats kept swooshing past, ripping up the quiet canal so that it sloshed and banged against the wooden banks, crammed with locals all swaying with the undertow and wearing the same look most of us wear on the northern line of a hot, sweaty summer's evening.

We decided to jump on, without really knowing how we'd pay, where we'd end up or any particular stop to specify.  When the end of the line came we found ourselves at a huge intersection of roads, with signposts to various temples; at Wat Ratchanadda we found vast empty spaces between terracotta-roofed temples housing gleaming golden buddhas, and stumbled across Loha Prasat, an unfinished monument that is the only remaining building of its kind in the world. Built to a unique, concentric design, each floor represents reaching a different stage of inner peace, before attaining nirvana on the very top floor (if only it were that simple).  Although open to the public, there was barely anyone there, and as we climbed barefoot up spiral stairs,  the low grind of monasting singing hanging in the white-walled air, gilt-coated Buddhas watching us mutely from every corner, I felt as if I was living out my own little Lara Croft fantasy.

There was something other-worldly about Loha Prasat and for me it was the highlight of a day that included lunch at a streetside foodmarket, where we ate a delicious plate of rice and curry each for 70p (for both of us), a ride the Gleaming Sky Train and a climb to the top of the Golden Mound to peer down at orange-robed monks strolling through the vast monastery complex, phones in hand.  And when we headed back; first on the boat, then on the blissfully-cool Skytrain, it was all the more pleasing because we'd done it all by accident.

Guidebooks are all very well, and guides too; having the charming Perez on our first day meant the city felt a lot less overwhelming.  But stumbling across things - setting off without any firm idea of what you're going to find - is still, for me, one of the real joys of travel.  

Bangkok is a city made for adventures, for journeys with no specific destination in mind. It has far less in common with other Asian cities, such as Hong Kong and Singapore, than I'd expected; less international, more undeveloped, less diluted by expat culture and foreign money.  That's here too of course, but I've far more of a sense of difference than in either of Bangkok's more cosmopolitan siblings.   Over dinner last night we got chatting to American, who bemoaned the hot, hectic streets, the frenetic pace, the slightly bonkers feel.  He wouldn't be returning, he said.  I can't wait to come back.